Ten Houses of Deceit
by Anonymous Void
Summary: Sequel to Death of the League on ShadowMajin's account. The path to Hell is always paved with good intentions. When lies, deceit, and conspiracy become involved, Hell comes with leather wings and sharp teeth.
1. See, Hear, and Speak No Evil

Author's Note: Sorry for the wait everybody. This story was slow to start and slow to work on, but finally, your patience is rewarded. ShadowMajin has handed the reins of posting over to me once again so keep an eye on my account for updates, unless you choose to put an alert on it.

Alright, a lot going on in this story. There's a reason why it's called Ten Houses. If myself and my co-author have done our jobs right, it shouldn't be until the end when you figure out who or what the Ten Houses are and if there are even houses involved in the first place. Nonetheless, I hope it's a good story for you guys, regardless. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: We do not own Batman

Warning: language, violence, death

See, Hear, and Speak No Evil

It was with a groan that Harvey opened his eyes, the soft light of the room causing little discomfort to him. As he took in his surroundings, he groaned again though for another reason.

"It happened again?" he asked wearily.

"I'm afraid it did, Harvey," a deep voice confirmed.

In Harvey Dent's book, this was _not_ a good thing. It was doubly so since he was the district attorney of one of the largest cities on the eastern seaboard and it was an election year. To open his eyes and find the room he was in in disarray, a coffee table flipped onto its side, reams of paper scattered about, and a lamp lying on the carpeted floor and under picture frames that were unevenly tilted on the wall they hung on was a very depressing sight for him.

The only thing that did not appear messed up with the man in the sweater vest across from him. He sat in a cushioned chair, a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose with a pair of nonjudgmental eyes peering through them. A legal pad lay on the man's lap, forgotten as the man's attention was focused solely on him.

At the very least, if there was one positive thing in all this, the bad toupee the man wore in a vain attempt to hide his balding head was the only awful thing in this room that Harvey knew he hadn't had a hand in ruining. He knew that for some men, they would do anything to keep a head full of hair, but the inevitable was always inevitable.

"This can't keep happening," the dark haired man bemoaned as he hunched over, his head held in his hands, elbows propped on his knees.

"Though my office may not appear like it, there has been some progress made today," the other man remarked. "It took much longer for any violent reactions to occur this time."

"That is not reassuring, Doc," Harvey grumbled. "I don't think we should be doing this hypnosis stuff anymore. You know I don't like it when I black out."

"We have gone over this before, Harvey. Blacking out and entering a hypnotic state are two completely different things, When you black out, we do not get any kind of information that would be useful here. With a hypnotic state, we are able to learn things that will-"

"Yeah, yeah, you've said it a million times." The district attorney looked up from his hands at the psychiatrist.

Based on a recommendation from his wife, Harvey had agreed to have a single session with the man across from him, one Dr. Victor Erie. They had that one session and the next thing Harvey had known he had a second session scheduled. Then a third. Then a fourth. The next thing he knew it had been over two years since he had first went to see this man for his...problem.

And for a while, it seemed like things were working out. He was feeling less stressed, even at work. His marriage was closer than ever. Even the fact that putting pressure on one of the last crime families in the city and barely making progress on that front was not giving him any ulcers.

Then the election cycle came around.

In Gotham, he was up for re-election about once every four years. In the last three or so, not that he was bragging or anything, he had been racking up quite a record, conviction after conviction, slowly but surely turning the tide against organized crime, and all and all making this city a better place. But people's memories were short. When things were getting better, less people wanted a man of action and more a man who didn't rock the boat.

He already had an opponent in the form of Mort Weinstein and word had it that Judge Harkness was planning to announce her candidacy any day now. Both could be proven to be the opposite of him, though for completely different reasons. So on top of his responsibilities as the district attorney, he was also in campaign mode. Stress was coming back massively.

Then he blacked out again.

Just when he thought maybe he could begin ending his therapy, he was here to continue it and plan for more sessions in the future. There were times he swore he would be torn in half from all this.

"Perhaps, Harvey. Perhaps. Setbacks are always to be expected. You have an extremely stressful vocation, one that has a term limit. You now have added stress with the everyday stress you already are experiencing. It is natural that you feel overwhelmed, and we both know what happens when you get overwhelmed," Dr. Erie summed up. "With that said, there are also the addition problems you had even before you became district attorney. Problems that did not simply go away, only were buried deep within you. Such problems have a habit of unearthing themselves at the most inconvenient times.

"To make longer lasting progress, we need to delve deeper and reach the true source of it. In your case, you have buried these problems so deep that conventional therapy will not be enough. Hypnosis, as I have explained before, is able to reach those problems and bring them forth. And it has been successful, in that regard. Maybe too successful."

Harvey snorted at that comment but said nothing else.

"Allow me to say this, Harvey," Dr. Erie continued. "I am worried for your mental stability. The stresses of political campaigning may be too much. I-"

"I will not drop out," Harvey growled, glaring up at the shrink. He remained hunched over, a surge of anger flowing through him.

"I understand. Yet, I must say that should you continue to proceed with your campaign, I cannot guarantee that you will remain stable. Another inopportune moment could arise where you 'black out' and the damage you face from it may be insurmountable."

A frown creased that handsome face the attorney was known for. Unfortunately he couldn't argue with Erie's logic. He could see what kind of disaster that would be. If the room was any indication…

"If you are to continue...then I would suggest we increase the number of sessions we have." Erie's suggestion interrupted Harvey's train of thought enough that he raised his head up fully from his hands.

"By how much?" he asked warily.

"I would say no more than two. If necessary, three a week," the shrink said. Seeing the look of disbelief that he was obviously showing, the psychiatrist added, "I know how much your career means to you. You have been a boon for this city and you would love nothing more than to carry on with it. To do that, you need to be mentally and psychologically healthy for it. Otherwise…"

There was no more that needed to be said. He knew where Erie was going with this, and God help him, Harvey couldn't find anything to disagree with it.

"Fine," he caved in. "Let's try twice a week. But no more. I still have to work."

"Of course, Harvey."

"And you won't tell anyone about this, right?"

"Every conversation we have in this room is confidential, Harvey. I would never dream of it. No one would see me if I did violate that agreement." Erie chuckled good-naturedly. It sounded like it came from the depths of the man.

"So what are the damages?" Harvey sighed as he sat up only to lean back in his seat, his eyes lifting up to look at the ceiling. At least he hadn't left a mark on that surface.

"Do not worry about it. I see no holes in the wall. It's the usual charge," Dr. Erie replied dismissively. "It will only take a few minutes to clean up. How about we end here for the day? It will give me some time for my next client."

Harvey grunted and pushed himself off the couch. He reached into his pocket for his checkbook, his other hand search for where he put his pen last. He walked around the mess he had made, all the while penning down all the relevant information into the slip of paper.

Tearing out a check, he placed it onto a large desk that had a stack of files placed on top of it, a desk lamp illuminating the work area . A computer hummed as a screensaver blocked off the digital desktop, the image of a multi-colored ball bouncing from side to side as it changed its shape being the picture presented. The only other items of note were a bust of some person Harvey was having trouble recalling and a book by...Lewis Carroll?

"I didn't know you were a fan of _Alice in Wonderland_ ," he commented.

"Sometimes we need to think outside of the box, Harvey," Erie chuckled in reply. "Sometimes doing an illogical behavior is answer to a logical problem."

Harvey hmmed as he placed his check on the desk. At the very least he hadn't made a mess of it either. The district attorney shuddered at the thought of having to pay for the damages to the computer alone.

"Have a good day, Harvey. It is times like these where we must focus on the things that give us joy," Erie called after him as he made his way to the door.

* * *

He glanced at his watch for nth time, shifting nervously in his seat. He had just arrived in the waiting room, running a bit late today. With the sun beginning to set, he knew he was the last one of the day, and sometimes he worried if the doctor would turn him away if he didn't arrive on time.

Maybe he was a bit jittery. Even admitting to himself that much would not ease it any. He wasn't anything special, just an average looking man with brown hair and eyes. When he had been growing up, people used to call him "mousy." He really didn't like being called that. Not when there were so many other, more interesting creatures he could be called.

As always, though, thinking thoughts like that invariably led to what made him more than a little anxious. Because he didn't stand out at all, whether it be with appearance or achievements, he knew that he was a disappointment to his father, the source of all his stress.

This was definitely something he needed to speak with the doctor about. Every time he had contact with that man, it always racked up the anxiety. As if being legally an adult had ever stopped his father from trying to impose his will on him, the man was still finding ways to interfere with his life.

 _Come on, stop thinking like that. He wasn't going to change any time soon so do what you always do. Distract yourself until it's your turn._

Yes, a distraction would be helpful. Fortunately he had one in his briefcase. Picking it up from off the floor, he placed the briefcase on his lap and opened it. It didn't take long to start sifting through some of the papers in there. He knew it was bad to take his work home with him, but really, his work was all he had.

Well, that and Francine. She understood him better than anyone else. Sometimes, he swore that if she hadn't married him, he wouldn't have been able to come as far as he had.

She also understood that his work was everything to him. How important it was. For others. For himself.

Just that thought had a hand stray towards his ear. Flesh met with plastic, an oblong curvature that hooked around his pinna and held an ear bud over the inner canal. A hearing aid, in short. It was a reminder that what he was doing, what was his life's work, held the power to change so many lives.

That Francine was not only accepting of it, but willing to lend her own scientific talents to helping progress his research...he was a lucky man.

His eyes never left the descriptions of chemical molecules and summaries of previous tests. He knew he had the key to unlocking a new realm of scientific study, the problem was puzzling out how to use it to open the lock. Something was eluding him, but what could it be? He couldn't tell if it was something complex or simple.

He continued his reading, trying to make sense of the data he held in-between the palms of his hands. Maybe this would work better on a tablet, but there was something about the feel of paper he preferred over the latest technological wonder.

The sound of a door opening made him jump in his seat. It seemed like his attempt to distract himself may have worked a bit too well. The squeal of the door hinges were quite loud, the high decibels caught and transmitted through his hearing aid. Due to his surprise, his opened briefcase fell off his lap, scattering papers all over the floor to his dismay.

 _Oh no…_

And here was another argument to use tablets; you couldn't spill your work all over the place if you dropped it by accident. Pushing himself out of his chair, he tried to clean up his unintended mess, wincing as he accidentally crumpled the papers he still held in his hands. He was more out of it today than usual. Now the briefcase was getting in his way! And his knee was placing weight on paper over here. God...God damn it!

It came as surprise when a hand not his own entered his sight, collecting paperwork off the carpeted floor. Looking up, he found a very handsome man in suit and tie crouched in front of him, helping to clean up.

Glancing up at him, the man gave what could only be described as a charismatic smile and commented, "Looks like you can use a little help."

He stared at this helpful man, almost unable to compute that this man was genuinely being nice to him. Not that people went out of their way to belittle him or anything. He was only used to Francine and her oh so lovely smile being some of the highlights of his days. Not like today, though.

Oh course, that smile was familiar, like he had seen it before. He knew he had. Was it from television? Yes. Yes it was. In fact, this man taking the time to help him out here looked like…

"Harvey Dent?" he found himself asking aloud. He felt the blood rush out of his face for a moment before returning with a vengeance. He must look like a Christmas tree light now, if the heat in his face was telling him anything.

The man who looked like Harvey Dent, district attorney paused in what he was doing and gave him a very serious look. "I trust you won't be telling anyone I was here, uh..."

That was the confirmation he needed that this was indeed Harvey Dent and not a lookalike. But why did he trail off like that-oh, now he got it. He didn't know his name. Well, of course he didn't know his name.

Now, maybe this was a relic from his childhood and adolescent years, but he had been raised to always give his name out to those who asked, directly or otherwise.

"Kirk," he introduced himself. "Kirk Langstrom." Then he added, "And I won't tell anyone. I, uh, I voted for you last election."

That charismatic smile was back. "I hope I still have it for this election as well."

"Yes, of course," Kirk found himself assuring the district attorney. He had no idea why he was doing that, but he felt like it was something he needed to do for reasons that escaped him for the moment.

"I believe these are yours," Harvey Dent stated as he handed back the contents of his briefcase back, or at least those he had collected.

"Oh. Oh, thank you so much. I'm...this has not been a good day for me," Kirk found himself explaining.

"From the looks of things, I'd have to agree. I hope it gets better for you," Harvey Dent said.

"So do I," a deep voice interjected. Kirk looked up to see Dr. Erie in the doorway, looking down at the two of them. "You seem out of sorts today, Kirk. Shall we?"

"Yes. Yes, doctor." Was it just him or was his heart pounding in his chest now? Now that he was paying attention, he noticed he was slightly short of breath as well. Okay, Kirk, just calm down. Use those breathing techniques-don't close your eyes! Yes, that's better. Breath in deeply...and exhale. Like that.

Distantly, he overheard Dr. Erie reassuring the district attorney that yes, he was fine. No, he did not need to remain, it was all under control. Harvey Dent might have made some half-hearted comment, Kirk wasn't too sure what it was, but the closing of a door brought him back to the here and now, where he remained crouched on the floor and accompanied only by his psychiatrist.

"Better, Kirk?" Dr. Erie asked.

Somewhat. He could only nod in reply as he collected whatever else remained on the floor. He made sure to shut the briefcase first and lock it closed before attempting to stand up. He did not need to be making another mess.

"You see to be on edge today," the psychiatrist commented as he escorted him into his office. "Did something at work happen?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary," he found himself answering as he made his way to the couch. "Always so close to a breakthrough, but never quite making it. The usual."

"So, if it is not work, what could it be that is bothering you?" Maybe it was the angle, but the glare from the lighting of the room obscured Dr. Erie's eyes, his glasses a protective barrier.

"I heard from my father again," Kirk confessed, grasping his hands together between his knees. On the floor, his briefcase rested innocently, forgotten.

There was nothing really else he needed to say.

* * *

Two dark figures raced over the rooftop. Due to their dark uniforms, the shadows seemed to swallow them up and spit them out as they moved.

The one in the lead was small and lithe, gracefully dashing towards the edge of the roof. Without a moment's hesitation, she leaped off the roof, seeming to soar through the air before she descended out of sight from beyond the roof's edge.

The second figure gave chase, white eyes staring the entire time. Larger than the girl before him, he had speed that belied his large frame. She would not lose him easily.

Reaching the ledge, the man jumped forward, spreading his arms out to either side of him. Grabbing his cape, the electric current in his gauntlet caused the cloth to stiffen, forming a glider. Slowly descending, Batman caught sight of his protege landing on a nearby rooftop, having used the glider function in her own cape as well. She didn't even lose a step as she immediately took off running the moment she touched down on the gravel of the roof.

Closing it, Batman let go of his cape at the last second, also sprinting after Batgirl. If she could go into a run right out of a landing, he could do no less. Arms pumping, he continued his chase, eyeing the much taller building up ahead.

 _Let's see what she'll do this time._

Already Batman was pulling out his grapple, but he didn't use it as he focused on the girl. It wasn't long after that he noticed her pointing her own grapple gun up and fired it towards the top of the approaching building. Satisfied with her action, the vigilante took aim and fired his grapple, feeling the cable go taut seconds later. By then, Batgirl was already rising through the air as she made to scale the building.

A heartbeat later, so was Batman.

With his head craned up as the wind beat at his speeding body, the dark-clad man couldn't help but notice the night's sky. More specific, there was a light reflecting off the dark clouds, the symbol of the Bat calling out for him.

Reaching the top of the building, Batman had already disengaged the claw and had it retracting back into the gun even as he crossed over the rooftop. This time, however, he found Batgirl crouched at the opposite end of the roof, staring out into the city with the focus of a blood hound.

Slowing down, Batman closed the remaining distance between them until he stopped behind her and off to her left. At his full height, he stared over the ledge, finding what he expected to see. From this height, the roof of the GCPD building was completely visible, from the large A/C units to the stairwell entrance. More important though, was the spotlight beaming up the Bat Symbol into the sky, the figure of a trench coat-wearing Jim Gordon standing next to it.

It seemed the police commissioner was by himself this night. That was odd considering that there was usually a second man with him. This was becoming a more regular occurrence the last few weeks.

Shifting his attention down to Batgirl as he moved to the roof's edge, he roughly spoke, "Stay here." This caused the girl to tilt her head up to look up at him. To reinforce his words, he gestured for her to stay put, which caused the young vigilante to reply with a sharp nod.

Turning his eyes away from his protege, Batman then scanned the area for any unwelcome eyes. This he took several minutes to do, mainly so he could make sure he checked every obvious vantage spot, not to mention the many windows that stared right down on the GCPD precinct. He already had his hands full with one nosy person, he didn't need more fuel for the fire.

Satisfied, he then stepped off the roof, immediately activating his cape glider and glided towards the station. Arcing through the air, he flew towards the right before he angled for the stairwell access structure. Closing in, he swung his legs out in front of him and released his cape, all within an instant as he landed silently on the small structure.

Jim didn't seem any the wiser.

Dropping down onto the roof, he closed the distance between them until he stood several feet away. "Gordon," he greeted.

The only hint that the commissioner was surprised was the slight jerk of his head as he turned to face him. Gordon was getting better at not being surprised by the vigilante's sudden arrivals, though he did have plenty of practice over the years. "Batman," he coolly returned the greeting, fully turning to face the Dark Knight.

A moment later and Gordon plunged right into a briefing. "I got a case that I'm wondering if I can't get your expertise on. There's been some noise in the department, especially since the lab has been finding some similarities in some recent homicides. It's making some cops superstitious, and unfortunately, it might be only a matter of time until I have to confirm that Gotham might have a serial killer on the loose."

This caused Batman to steel his normally stoic features. As if Gotham didn't have enough with the criminal element in the city, now there was someone out there willfully killing other people for their own sick desire. His hands tightened into fists beneath his cape, the only sign of his growing anger.

"Whoever the killer is, the only thing I can really tell you is that he's prolific. At least eight murders in the last two weeks. The victims range from high school students, to wealthy businessmen, to Suzy-homemakers, and none of them have any connection to each other, save two who just happened to live in the same neighborhood. Any investigation we've done into those two victims came back inconclusive, which basically means they were acquaintances at best and never knew the other existed at worst. The same with location; this guy seems to pick his spots at random, or more likely convenience. The murders were done on site, but there's not a single place in Gotham he seems to prefer."

"How were the victims killed?" Batman questioned.

"Multiple stab wounds, you name it, they had it. Defensive wounds on the arms on many of the victims indicated they at least tried to fight back with little success. Multiple stab wounds to the chest and abdomen were placed in non-vital areas, so this sick bastard was either playing with them, or just didn't care where he stabbed. Cause of death for each victim was having their throats slashed opened."

"Any lead on the killer?"

Gordon let out a sigh. "That's where we're having trouble. The only piece of evidence we even have on this guy is a drop of blood-it's almost like a calling card. Each drop was found a short distance away from the bodies, nowhere near where the struggle happened. DNA testing confirms that the blood doesn't belong to the victims, so that's how we can tie this guy to each crime scene."

That was at least something, though Batman wished there was more to go on. Not only did they need to catch the perp in action, but they needed a murder weapon as well. Speaking of-

Suddenly, the door to the roof access swung open, causing both men to jerk their attention to it. Standing in the doorway was Harvey Dent, his tie loose and his button up shirt looking wrinkled and disheveled. "What did I miss?" he asked casually, his shoulders and chest moving from heavy breaths.

"Harvey, don't tell me you ran up the stairs again," Gordon reprimanded, earning a nonchalant shrug from the DA. "Damn it, Harv, I've told you you don't have to kill yourself running up those stairs."

"I have to get my cardio in sometime," Dent replied breezily, walking up to the two men. The door to the roof access slowly closed behind him, the hinges squealing loudly until the door finally closed. "I take it you've been discussing our serial knifer."

"We have," Gordon acknowledged.

"What do you have on the murder weapon?" Batman asked then, redirecting the conversation.

"Nothing so far, but we're still running our analysis on the stab wounds," the commissioner responded, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. "Though I can tell you the blade is serrated."

"As you can see, we don't have a lot, and the media is starting to get wise," Dent said, becoming the center of attention. "I know this doesn't need to be said, but we need to catch this guy as soon as possible. If the public hears anything about this, we'll be in some serious trouble."

Batman and Gordon glanced to each other. Though each of them wanted this serial killer apprehended before he killed anyone else, what was going unsaid was how much pressure was on Dent at the moment. Unlike himself and Gordon, Dent was up for re-election, and having a serial killer on the loose would only add fodder for his opponents to use against him. He would never admit it, but Dent was stressed about his job security.

And Batman was willing to admit that there would be issues if Dent lost his re-election bid. The current relationship between himself, the GCPD, and the DA's office had never been as close or cooperative. Having a new DA could undo that accomplishment.

Politics in action.

"Where was the last crime scene?"

"Chelsea and 7th," Dent answered, a hint of relief in his voice. "The scene was discovered last night, I believe."

"That's right," Gordon confirmed. "Forensics finished with the scene early this morning and a security detail is standing guard for the moment. I can call-"

Batman turned away at that, moving towards the railing at the edge of the roof. Gordon was probably going to call off the unit for him to do his own investigation, not to mention giving his men plausible deniability about his presence at a crime scene. Unfortunately, the scene would be contaminated from the forensics team, first responders, and detectives investigating, so the vigilante wasn't getting his hopes up for finding anything the GCPD hadn't already. Any other information on the murders he'd find in Gordon's office, undoubtedly stacked on a corner of his desk.

For now though, it was time to investigate.

* * *

Janet was so going to kill her for this.

That is, if she ever found out.

Her sister may live in Gotham, more like the suburbs, but she didn't. So what was a few hours of sightseeing before ending her long trip to this very big city at her sister's home? There was just so much here, so many stores, restaurants, and buildings! This was the first time she had gotten so close to Wayne Tower, a place she mostly saw in pictures and on TV.

That was another thing, she was keeping to downtown. Gotham may be known as the crime capital of the world, or something like that, but its downtown had to be safer than other parts of it, right? Right.

And since Janet and Jack would be expecting her later, as long as they didn't know that she had flown in on an earlier flight, she could get away with this. Her older sister, she knew, would throw such a fit if she found out about this.

So she wouldn't. Simple answer.

Now, a problem she hadn't counted on was that she was going to have lug her own luggage around this city. Now that was a buzz kill if anything. The only upside to this was that it was a weekend visit. Just enough to get her to Monday. And her little suitcase has wheels on it so she wasn't carrying it everywhere.

If only Janet wasn't such a stick in the mud and lived a little, maybe she wouldn't be sneaking around Gotham like this. How could you live so close to such a big city and not have any fun with it?

That was the thing about fun, or having too much fun. You lost track of time. Which she did. Before she knew it, the sun was setting, the stars were coming out, and oh shit, this was not good.

Okay, Jack was probably already at the airport waiting for her. That, or he got sick of waiting. So, simple solution, get a taxi. Just tell them her flight was late and she forgot to call them. Very simple.

Getting a taxi right now was not so simple. Where was one when you needed it, right?

The young woman gave a shiver. All around her, Gotham seemed to have...changed a bit. In daylight, it was so amazing. Right now, with the lamp poles and neon lights being the only things bright around here, the city was starting to get a creepy edge to it. Sent a shiver up her spine.

Wait, hold up. Was that…?

It was about a block down the street, down by a lit up club. At least she thought it was a club. There was a line in front of it and everything. None of that matter because there was a yellow-colored car pulling up by the sidewalk, the rear passenger door opening up a moment later.

At last, a taxi. Time to make a run for it and make it her ride out of here. You know, this was a random thought but maybe she should start looking into Uber or one of those other app services.

Maybe it was because of her excitement about spotting the taxi, or maybe it was because she was feeling a bit tired from all the exploring she had done, but only at the last instant did she become aware that someone was behind her. In the next second, a powerful arm wrapped around her and pulled, dragging her back and into an alley.

The next thing she knew, she felt as if she had been shoved. The handle to her wheeled-suitcase slipped from her fingers as she stumbled back, almost losing her footing but able to catch her balance at the last second.

Before her was a man in a dark hoodie, the hood pulled over his head. Unlike the street beyond, this alley was dark and made it hard to get any other details about him, like his pants or more importantly his face.

She began to open her mouth. Whether it was to scream or demand to know what the hell he thought he was doing (it was a he, right?), she did not know. Or would ever find out.

Because this person was fast. One moment, he was lurking in the entrance of the alley, the next he was charging at her, ramming into her, and…

She choked. She felt a weird sensation in her chest, like something was there that shouldn't have been there. She eyes lowered down and found that her attacker held a knife handle in his hand, something she hadn't seen when he ran at her. As for the knife's blade, that was...in her...chest...

Shock was beginning to take hold of her body as well as her mind, and when her fight or flight response began to kick in, her attacker had already pulling his knife out of her and was stabbing it into her stomach. Pain was kicking now, but she found she could not make any kind of noise.

She tried to push at him, but he was so strong! One of his hands was on her shoulder, his fingers biting into the cloth of her jacket. Soon, it released her, the attacker's arm maneuvering around her to keep her from falling onto the alley floor. All the while he kept stabbing her, stabbing and stabbing and stabbing her…

His eyes pierced into her, and for the first time she took them in, saw how...dead they were. Other than that, she couldn't even tell what color they...were…

Blood loss was beginning to take hold, her legs buckled beneath her, yet she tried to push herself away. It didn't work. However, the stabbing stopped. Almost relieving as it came with a dulling of the pain she was feeling. But she felt the kiss of metal against her throat, and after that began to choke once more as liquid filled her esophagus.

Everything began to fade at that point. She didn't know when she landed on the ground.

She didn't once think about Janet.

* * *

The killer gazed upon the corpse, not even an inkling of emotion entering him. For a moment in time, he had felt alive. It was a quick moment, at least with this one. Disappointing, really. He had been wanting a fight. For all the struggle it showed, he had posed the body in a way to reflect it. With one arm stretched to a side, the other bent upwards, a piece of cardboard was used as a blanket, all to complete the scene of a woman sleeping, about to wake up at any moment.

They were all different, these zombies. It was hard to figure which ones would put up the most fight and which ones would be easy kills. He liked the ones that fought back the most; it felt like he was earning the kill.

Still, a kill was a kill. Taking the time to wipe the blood off his knife with the former zombie's jacket, he rolled up the sleeve of his hoodie up to his elbow. He took a step back, turning away from the corpse.

He placed the blade of his knife against his skin, next to a healing cut that had been made in the last day. Cutting his skin, he made a mark identical to the one next to it, a trickle of blood running down and under his arm. He paid no attention to the drop of blood that dripped off his arm, only rolling his sleeve back up to his wrist.

Tucking his weapon away, the killer left the alley unnoticed, already on the lookout for his next victim. The night had only begun and there will be plenty of zombies for him to free.


	2. On the Dark City Beat

On the Dark City Beat

The symbol of the Bat lit up the night's sky, its light emanating from somewhere in the city, most likely the GCPD. Standing on the corner of a building, Huntress stared up at it, a soft breeze, blowing through her hair.

There was something comforting and yet irritating about the Bat Signal. Ever since it had been put into use, there had been a noticeable decline in criminal activity. There had been studies and everything and every time that damn light was on, criminals, thugs, and punks instantly began laying low, suddenly reluctant and scared to cause too much of a ruckus.

Which was where the comforting feeling came in. With the criminal element crawling back underneath the rocks they came from, it made patrolling the city that much easier, if not boring. Of course, there was always those brash youngsters that though that maybe, just maybe, they could risk robbing the local liquor store, or hold up a gas station and the Bat wouldn't show.

That was where Huntress came in.

She made sure those cocky punks knew they were wrong to play with Daddy's stolen handgun, or Mommy's kitchen knife. She had gotten into the habit of making sure she broke a bone or five in their hands, a constant reminder they had thirty more she could break should they ever think crime was worth hurting others.

Still, was it too much to ask for a Huntress Signal?

The purple-clad woman snorted. Yeah, this was Batman's City and everyone knew it. Anyone else was just riding his coattails, using his reputation to their advantage. Once upon a time that would've upset her. Now though, after proving her worth, establishing herself as one of the top vigilantes in Gotham—and even meeting the Bat himself on multiple occasions—she could safely say that she had earned her place here. Even after her departure from the Birds of Prey, Batman hadn't come to shut her down, instead giving her the space she needed to keep up her private operation.

Huntress sighed.

Even though it was over two years, there were times she did miss them—Dinah and Katana. They had some fun times together, kicking butt, taking names, advocating Girl Power.

Still, the distrust between them had to be dealt with and Huntress still believed she had made the right decision in leaving. She was now free to work as she saw fit and the Birds could operate without two of its members expecting the third to flip out on them.

To say the Birds were still a duo though, would've been a big assumptions. From what Huntress had heard, they had recruited a new third member, someone to take up the bruiser role that the purple vigilante had vacated. She had felt a twinge of jealousy when she had first heard the rumors, but now she was completely over it. The Birds of Prey needed to do what was in the best interest of the Birds and that was that.

Ugh, she needed to go bash some heads in; all of this brooding was making her depressed.

Moving from her perch, she headed to the opposite side of the building, coming to a stop at its edge. Below her was an alleyway, her motorcycle parked right by its mouth. She had planned on climbing down and riding off, but she found herself staring down in disbelief.

Kneeling next to the bike was some kid. He couldn't have been older than twelve. And currently he was trying to remove the tires from her bike.

No way in hell was he going to steal her wheels.

An arrow was sticking out of the brick in front of the vigilante, a coil of rope resting on the roof. This had been how she scaled the building, fully intent on using it to climb down when she was ready. Kneeling down, she grabbed the rope and pushed most of it off, watching it fall until it dangled above the ground. Making sure she had a good grip, Huntress slid off the roof, her legs wrapping around the rope as she slid downwards.

Huntress couldn't have been more than a few feet off the dirty pavement when she let go of the rope and landed hard on the ground. The boy clearly heard her as he jerked his head up, peeking over the seat of the motorcycle, and stared right at the enraged look on the purple-clad woman's face.

"What the hell are you doing to my bike?!" she barked, looming over the child. In response, the kid bolted, stumbling over his own feet before he dashed out of the alley and took off down the street.

Huntress wanted to go chase after him, but she didn't bother, content with watching him run off. Looking down at her bike, she began circling it, looking for any damage to it. Fortunately, all she saw were a couple lug nuts removed, something she could easily put back in place.

Still, she could feel her anger burning inside of her. How dare that rugrat try and rob her? Once she made sure her bike was able to drive more than two blocks without falling apart, she was going to track that kid down and show him just how much of a bad idea it was to jack up another person's ride.

* * *

Like most cities, Gotham had its own Projects. It was public housing at its finest, if you considered worn down, dirty, and vandalized fine. Some of the poorest families living on the government tip called this place home.

Which is why a group of men, no women to be seen at all, who happened to be dressed much better than the residents stuck out in this place. The fact that no one tried to hustle or, you know, mug them, meant they weren't just some average, better dressing guys.

A lot of investigating and digging revealed that these men were mob. More specifically, they were part of the last mob family in town, and that was a family no one wanted to cross right now.

Well, no one who wasn't wearing a mask and ran across rooftops on a nightly basis at least.

It was just the two of them tonight. He was the taller, stronger, and better looking of them two, the illustrious Nightwing. Okay, maybe not illustrious yet, but one day. And no, he wasn't repeating a word he happened to hear Barbara say the other day. Not at all.

Now the other was his partner in...he couldn't say crime right there even though vigilantism was breaking the law. Let's go with partner. Anyway, his partner was beside him, watching the apartment complex across the street with a pair of binoculars. He was Robin, the younger of the two, though Nightwing had to give credit where credit was due, and he was the more analytic of the two. Very investigative. A real go-getter.

They had been at this for a few weeks. Watching these guys, tailing them when they could, and identifying which subsidized apartment they were using. They knew which window to be looking at, which always had the curtains closed. So they couldn't see what was going on in there. The two of them did have an idea.

See, these mob guys tended to go into this place a lot, and always with a suitcase or duffel bag. In they would go, their luggage of choice full of something not yet identified, and they would leave with their bags much emptier. A lot of studying body language and how someone walked with a heavy load compared to a light load helped out with that detail. Something was being left behind, and Robin had put his bets on drugs.

Which Nightwing was still a bit sore about. His younger partner was getting quicker on the draw these days. He was proud of the guy, don't get him wrong, but that didn't mean he couldn't get annoyed. Now he had to bet that whatever was in that apartment was...not drugs.

So they were at a stalemate. They needed to know what was going on in that building, yet needed to be careful that they didn't tip off those guys that they were on to them. It was by pure luck that Nightwing had run across one of those men earlier in the day, when he was not dressed up to kick ass, and had overheard him complain about a broken window latch.

While there was a great chance they had repaired that latch since this accidental tip, they had needed to act on it quickly. Unfortunately, quickly meant after dark as that was the only time Robin could get away. His folks were expecting a visitor so he couldn't be out long anyway. So this was going to need to be quick.

About a couple minutes ago, they had spotted a few of their targets heading into the building and now they were waiting for them to leave. Even though the windows had curtains pulled over them, there was this slight bit of light that always managed to escape. Once it was turned off, it would be safe enough to try and see if they could get in there.

"Light's off," Robin piped up.

Nightwing nodded and pulled out his grapple line. When compared to the stuff they used to use, this was of a higher quality. Plus the launching attachment was a bonus. All thanks went to their not-so-secret benefactor who may or may not have a thing about bats.

He waited until they spotted their guys leaving the place, empty duffle bags this time. A light load tonight.

"Sit tight, I won't be long," the older vigilante quipped before firing his line. The grappling hook disappeared into the night and it wasn't until the cable became taut that Nightwing leapt off the roof and swung across the street.

Bringing his legs up, his knees against his chest, he used his feet to cushion himself against the apartment building, the side now his walking surface. Getting his bearings, he groaned to himself a little as he realized he was a couple stories below their targets' base of operations. Oh well, it wouldn't be too difficult to solve this.

Pushing on the retracting button, he allowed his grappling device to do half his work for him and pull him up towards the right window. As he became level with it, he placed a foot on the small space that was the window sill. Reaching out with one hand, he swallowed as he tried to gain a grip on the window's bottom. This was not easy to do with gloved hands. He did his best, though, digging his fingers into the crack between the sill and the window frame.

Something was giving way, his fingers were sinking deeper into an open crevasse and-ah ha! The latch hadn't been repaired yet! It took a little more work, but he managed to get his palm under the frame. Some more effort and a grunt of exertion and he had the window opened enough that he could try to enter.

It was a tight squeeze; Robin could have probably done it easier. But it wasn't Robin doing this, it was him. So, getting into the building took longer than what he normally wanted, but he had done it and was in.

This place looked ratty. Maybe that was because the lights were off. As they say, let there be light. That light would be from the small flashlight he carried in his belt, one he had colored black so that it blended in with his uniform. Okay, that was better. Huh, that was a lot of boxes.

Boxes might not be the right word. It wasn't like there were crates in here, something that big would have been noticed. What he found were stacks of six by ten by five tin-like containers. Picking one up, he found that while there was some weight to it, it wasn't heavy enough to need a lot of strength to move.

Hmm, did he spy a table over there. Yep. Good as place as any to put this. Placing this container, or box, he was going to call it a box from now on, on the surface. He took a closer look at his find, and found a small lock embedded in the box's lid

Nice, time to see if his lockpicking skills were up to snuff.

Putting his small flashlight in his mouth, his reached for his belt and pulled out the small wire he had spent weeks upon weeks practicing with. Into the lock it went and now to turn it. Turn it. Let's try the other way for a sec. Okay, now the other—got it.

Raising the lid, Nightwing prepared himself for what he would find. Then he blinked. Several times, to be honest, but he couldn't quite register what he was seeing. It wasn't powder, or anything that looked drug related. If he wasn't mistaken, he could have sworn that he was looking at a box full of…

...diamonds?

Picking a few up, he brought his hand closer to his eyes while pulling his flashlight out of his mouth. Yep, those were diamonds. Small ones, but there was a heck of a lot of them. Now that he thought about it, there were a lot of those boxes in this room alone. How many were in this apartment? Judging by how often those mob men came in here with suitcases and duffel bags and usually leaving emptier…

Shit. This was a gold—er, a diamond mine!

Using the small communicator that was in his ear, he reported back to Robin. "I found something, R. You are not going to believe this."

" _Tell me I'm right. Is it cocaine? Heroin? Don't keep me in suspense here,_ " Robin replied.

"Nothing like that," he corrected. "I'm looking at a motherlode of diamonds."

There was silence on the line. " _Excuse me, could you repeat that?_ "

Sounds like he had a disbeliever.

"It's diamonds, Robin. I think the whole place is full of them," the black-clad vigilante stated.

" _Why would mobsters be bringing in diamonds? That doesn't make any sense._ "

"Hold that for a minute. Let me get out of here before I outstay my welcome." Not bothering to respond to anything else Robin might have said, Nightwing slipped the few diamonds he held into a belt pocket then shut the box in front of him. He did his best to try and lock it before returning the box to where he had first picked it up.

After that, it was more squirming out the window and shutting it before climbing to the top of the complex. In less than a minute, he was back on the other side of the street where he could show off his find to his younger partner.

"I thought you were pulling my leg for a sec," Robin whistled.

"Of course you know, that means I win our bet," the older man mentioned.

"Too bad for you we didn't wager anything." Robin shot him a shit-eating grin before returning his gaze to the diamonds. "These things look like they've been cut and polished. These aren't the raw kind."

"You don't say." Like he knew anything about diamonds except they were really expensive and all wedding rings needed to have one nowadays.

"Wish I could stay but I've been out as long as it is," Robin continued. Looking back up at him, the younger vigilante added, "Maybe you could take it to...our friend. See if she can find out anything about why mob men are trying to smuggle in diamonds into an American city."

He nodded. "Guess it really is past your bedtime."

"Oh, hardy har har." Because of the domino mask, he couldn't actually see Robin roll his eyes but it was easy to tell.

Still, it wasn't a bad idea. It gave him an excuse to go see their friend and the third member of their clan, so to speak. Lately, she had been in a funk, and he was really starting to get worried about her. Maybe this would help. Who knew.

Thus the two active members of the Batclan went their separate ways for the night.

* * *

It seemed that every alleyway in Gotham followed a city ordinance. Each one was covered in grime, graffiti decorating the walls. Trash was tossed on the ground, nearby dumpsters overflowed with garbage. This one was no exception.

However, what the other alleys didn't have was a chalk outline at its entrance. Staring down at it, Batman studied the form, visualizing how the victim was found. In one hand he held a small stack of photos, the top one revealing the body. According to the picture, it seemed the victim had been positioned against a wall, head tilted down to look at his lap. A newspaper had rested there, the victim appearing to be reading it. Blood stained the pavement and wall where it had poured out of the older man.

A breeze ruffled his cape then, along with Batgirl's. It was too much to ask the girl at his side to help in his investigation, at least when it came to observing the crime scene. Trained as she was, she didn't have the first clue when it came to minimizing crime scene contamination, as well as identifying clues. Now wasn't the time to be teaching her either, not when she would struggle with his instructions.

Looking to the young girl, he said, "Make a perimeter, two blocks." He gestured as he spoke, extending a finger and drawing a circle with it. He then stopped and extended a second figure to signify two. Batgirl sharply nodded her acceptance before she raised her grapple gun and fired it towards the roof of one of the buildings, launching into the air shortly after.

Returning his attention to the scene, Batman began walking into the alley, making sure not to disturb anything. Slowly he panned his head from side to side, up and down, making sure he captured everything with the video recorders in his lens. Besides the yellow police tape that closed off both ends of the alley, there wasn't much to indicate that the police or forensics teams had been there. The yellow placards had been removed following the initial investigation.

That's why he had the photos. Flipping through the stack, Batman searched for where each one was taken, trying to gather a sense of what had happened here. As far as he could tell, there hadn't been much of a struggle, indicating the killer had the element of surprise. Considering the blood on the wall, the attack had come from behind.

In fact, there was a small trail of blood comprised of droplets that led from the alley's mouth to where the chalk outline was. So the killer attacked the victim, stabbed him in the back, then dragged him to his final resting place. Batman narrowed his eyes. Was the killer trying to conceal his crime by doing this, or was there another purpose? His first inclination was the former.

Flipping another picture over, that was when the vigilante found the alleged drop of blood. Looking up from it, staring at the alleyway, then back, Batman began searching for the location, finding it several feet away. Stopping, he glanced at the ground, finding the offending red drop, or at least what remained of it. The forensic team had nearly wiped it out when collecting it, so there wasn't much he could do about it.

Still, it was possible the victim's blood had gotten onto the killer when he stabbed him, and fell off as the killer left. Moving further down the alley, he searched for more droplets, finding none. Even checked the sidewalk at the back exit and found none.

It was as if the killer had disappeared the moment after he had finished his crime.

Which meant the killer knew the area, so he could come and go quickly and stealthily without anyone being the wiser. Either there had been previous reconnaissance-which indicated premeditation—or the perpetrator lived nearby or had. _Note to self: check for residents and former residents for criminal backgrounds._

Returning back to the outline, Batman was about to do a closer inspection when Batgirl suddenly landed nearby. She was noisy too, which immediately got the Dark Knight's attention. With her abilities, she shouldn't have crashed down like she had.

Immediately, the girl began gesturing wildly, pointing away from the alley. Frowning, Batman approached her, finding that she was pointing towards another alley. As if that wasn't enough, Batgirl grabbed his arm with her hand and began pulling on him.

"What is it?" he asked quickly, beginning to follow the girl. Batgirl ignored basic street-crossing etiquette, hurrying across the street. Hot on her heels, Batman followed her until they reached mouth of the alley.

Immediately, Batman went still. Lying a couple feet away was another body, one that he was positive was a woman. A piece of cardboard was lying on top of her, poorly concealing her from sight. Blood was pooling around her, and if he wasn't mistaken, it was still coming out of her.

Instantly, the vigilante was at the woman's side, checking her for a pulse. Pressing two fingers against her neck, he searched for the carotid artery, finding none. He then went for the radial pulse, also coming up with nothing. Batman's face twisted into a scowl. This woman had been killed, recently too.

Someone was going to pay for this.

Snapping his head to a side, he began gesturing to Batgirl even as he ordered, "Search for anyone within a four block radius leaving the scene."

Batgirl didn't even respond, merely taking off to perform her task. In the meantime, Batman looked down at the woman. As much as he didn't want to, he was going to have to disturb this crime scene to figure out what happened.

The first thing he did was look at the area surrounding the body. It was hard to tell with all the scattered trash around if there had been a struggle. Multiple scuff marks were on the ground, but there was no telling when those were made. Turning his attention to the victim, he let out an aggrieved sigh before kneeling down next to her.

With one hand, he carefully lifted the cardboard up. "Victim is female, between the ages of twenty five and thirty five," he narrated. "Clothes are of modest means, indicating the victim is of middle class." Staring at her back, he mentally noted the pose, the woman's right arm lying next to her side and right leg was straight out. Her left arm was up by her head, bent at the elbow, her left leg extended out and bent at the knee. She was lying on her stomach, her back to the vigilante. "No wounds observed on her back."

Pushing the cardboard aside, Batman then slowly turned the woman, glancing at her pale skin. She was cool to the touch as well. However, he was quick to note the knife wound in her chest. "Victim was stabbed in the right pectoral, blood flow indicative of a severed aorta. The victim bled out in minutes."

Batman then lowered the woman back onto the ground and placed the cardboard back on her, though he made sure to look on both sides of it for any clues, finding none. He then looked at her left arm, which wasn't covered by the cardboard. "No sign of defensive wounds," he spoke, looking to her hand then. "Nails are clean, so the victim wasn't able to strike at her attacker, indicating an ambush."

Walking around the body, Batman made sure to check out the right arm and hand, finding it just as clean as the left. That seemed to eliminate any theory of a struggle. Standing to his full height, he then began searching the alley, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

He came to a full stop when he noticed a drop of blood.

Looking back to the victim then to the blood drop, the Dark Knight was quick to realize that there was a considerable distance between the two. Further observation showed that was the only drop around, none appearing further down the alley.

Kneeling down, Batman reached to a pouch on his belt and pulled out a small plastic bag. In the back was a tube with a cotton swab within it. Opening the back, he pulled out the tube and twisted off the end, pulling out the swab. Carefully, he dabbed the blood droplet with the cotton swab, placing the sample back into the tube, and then into the plastic bag. Returning to the body, he pulled out a second bag and tube, collecting a blood sample there as well.

Now came the hard part. Reaching to his belt, he pulled out a cell phone—clean and untraceable. Hitting the speed dial, he held the device up to his ear and patiently waited until he heard an answer. _"This is Gordon."_

"Jim, there's been another murder."

* * *

Tim had made it home with plenty of time to spare. The night might be young, but this wasn't one that he could stay out late in. For a moment he had to pinch himself when he saw the time on his alarm clock. It was too weird to see a PM on that thing instead of AM.

He was back in that day's clothes; no sense in rousing any suspicion from the folks. Hmm, he wondered if his aunt had finally come in. A part of him hoped not because that meant either Mom or Dad would have knocked on his door, wanting him to take a break from studying.

Yeah, studying. His excuse to be left alone tonight. At the very least, he had been able to shut and lock his door. That way his alibi would still stand. And if he got any scrutiny for not answering the door if someone had knocked on it, he could say that he had fallen asleep. Wouldn't be such a bad idea to mess his hair up a bit, make it look like he had gotten a little of that forty winks.

It was tough being your above average high school student and being a kick ass crimefighter at night and not have anybody catch on to you. If he wanted to keep on being Robin, he had to keep his grades up as well as maintain a typical teenaged social life. It was exhausting at times, he had to admit.

He wouldn't give up on being Robin, though. Not for anything. So unless you happened to be a fellow nighttime vigilante, there was no way in hell he was ever going to reveal his after dark activities.

There was a rush that came with it. Beating up bad guys, solving the occasional crime that they happened to arrive at too late to stop. If he didn't say so himself, he'd say he was becoming quite the detective. Even if his skills weren't up to par with Dick's, he could always count on being the thinker, the one who could take a look around and come up with an explanation for what was going on.

Well, time to make an appearance, let the folks know he was still alive, get something to eat, then come back up and actually do some homework.

Unlocking his bedroom door, Tim stepped out of his room and trudged down the hallway, heading for the stairs. Up ahead, he could see his parent's bedroom, the door open and the room dark. Light coming to the left was a sign that downstairs were lit up and most likely where they were. Purposefully, he made noise as he walked, each step heavy to indicate your average teenager.

The stairs were the same way, each footstep he took thumping on each step. Quick check, shoulders were sagging? Good. Leaning back slightly? Yep. Sleepy-looking eyes? Actually, he didn't know that one and damn, no mirror or reflective surface in sight when you needed it. Screw it, he'd wing it.

The adolescent vigilante's head perked up as he caught the tail end of a soft voice, Mom's. What had she just said? If he didn't know her like he did, he would have said that she was whispering, which wasn't the case entirely. She just had a voice so soft that if you weren't paying attention, you'd miss it.

Coming to a stop, he waited to see if this was something he needed to know about. If they were talking about him, it would be nice to have the heads up first.

"I've called up the airport; her flight's already come in," he heard his dad say. "Are you sure she isn't picking up?"

"Kathleen isn't answering me. I don't know what's going on," Mom answered. Now that he was paying attention, Tim picked up on the frustration held in that soft voice.

Sounded like Aunt Kathleen wasn't here. Weird. He knew about her visit, but it was late. She should have been here by now. Correctly, Dad should have picked her up by now and she should be here. Had Dad gone to the airport and not found her?

"Jack, you don't think...you think she might be in the city?" Mom asked, worried, concern, and not a little bit of fear leaking out.

"She should know better than to be in Gotham at this time of night. Give her another call, Janet. Hopefully this time she'll pick up."

Tim was at a dilemma now. Should he continue and interrupt these worrying proceedings? Or should he head back to his room and do what he should have been doing instead of dressing up and palling around with Dick in the Projects? A groan from his stomach ended up making the decision for him. Well, might as well use this sleepy teenager scheme he had already put so much effort into. From the sounds of things, neither of his parents had checked up on him.

Descending the last few steps, he headed to where he heard his folks. Turns out they were in the kitchen, his mom on the phone and biting her lip worriedly. Curly brown hair fell around her head as she leaned over the kitchen counter, her thin, almost waifish body swallowed by clothes that appeared to be a size too big for her.

Then again, knowing how close his mom was to Aunt Kathleen, this was the kind of getup she wore to greet her whenever she came in. Some kind inside joke that Tim was not old enough to get. Even though he was almost sixteen. Just saying.

Over by the fridge stood the football player build that his father had been blessed with. With black hair combed to his left, the very straight-laced man kept his eyes on his wife, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

"Hey," he called out to grab their attentions. Though everything about this scene screamed tense, as an average teenager he ignored such things. Now to add in some tactless question. "What's going on? Have we eaten yet?"

As if trying to hide what was going on, Mom canceled her call and pushed herself away from the counter. "Timothy, I'm sorry. I forgot you were here."

"So...you ate already?" he pressed with his ruse, wincing at the fact that she used his _full name_. Get up with the times, Mom. He preferred to be called Tim instead of Timothy.

"Now's not a good time, Tim," Dad cut in.

Glancing at the man, Tim made a show of looking around before asking, "Where's Aunt Kathleen? Isn't she supposed to be coming over/"

His dad paused. Okay, that was not a good sign. He could see the conflict in the man's dark eyes, as if he was debating whether or not to bring him in the loop. Much to his surprise, the old man said, "There's been a bit of a problem. Your aunt's not in yet but we're working to see what's going on. If you're hungry, make yourself a sandwich. I don't think anyone's up for cooking right now."

"Jack," Mom protested.

"Tim can take care of himself for one night. Right?" At that last part, Dad shot a look at him that basically asked "can I put my trust in you?"

"I can do that. We have any chips?" he shrugged.

"Good man. Your mother and I are going to go into the other room. Make sure you get to bed at a decent time tonight."

Okay, that wasn't a good thing to hear. Looks like Dad had been overhearing him messing around in his room...at a less than decent time.

No sense tempting fate here.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," he snarked, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly.

Though he was acting, that didn't stop him from being concerned as well. If his aunt was missing… Naturally it would have to be in Gotham of all places. Not a problem anybody wanted. At the moment, he was powerless to do anything. Since his folks knew he was here, and awake, he had to stay in lest he rouse the kind of suspicions he had been trying to avoid.

For a second, he thought about giving Dick, or Barbara since he was heading that way, a call and to ask his older partner to keep his eyes peeled for his aunt. Ultimately, Tim decided against this. This was a family thing, and he was sure that his aunt probably was in the city and got lost. They should get this thing fixed up in the morning. There was no worry.

None at all.


	3. Taking the Tour

Taking the Tour

The thing about being in a wheelchair was that stairs were now your mortal enemy. Barbara Gordon had had to change a lot in her life in order fit her new, dreadful reality. Only a few months ago she had gotten out of rehab, and she hadn't done much.

Currently, she was in an apartment of her own. Her father, the commissioner, was paying for it until she was able to make the rent payments herself. The place was sparsely set up; there wasn't much need for furniture for a woman in a wheelchair. As of the moment, she was in her bedroom, surrounded by a bed, nightstand, and a desk complete with a computer that she had barely touched of her own free will.

Sure, she was enrolled in a few college classes, but her heart just wasn't in it. She was passing, but she wasn't doing as well as she should have been. Yet she couldn't find it in her to really care anymore.

Because damn it, it wasn't suppose to be this way! She had been a gymnast; she was used to using her body in whatever way she wanted! And! And she had taken up the dual identity of a costumed vigilante, doing the things that vigilantes in this city did. She was used to being able to do as she wanted, when she wanted to.

Now. Now she was restricted. She had no choice but to be in this damn chair and there was not a Goddamn thing she could do to change that. It pissed her off, it saddened her, it made her want to hit someone, anyone.

Any sudden bouts of anger inevitably sputtered out into cold depression. Some days she wondered why she even tried to do anything anymore. Without her legs, what the hell could she do? Why didn't she have them chopped off for all the good they did her now? On the bad days, she had trouble mustering up the energy to get out of bed, because really, what was there for her?

Her father had wanted her to move in with him and Sarah, but his house wasn't what you would call handicap accessible. She didn't miss the looks he sent her when he thought she wasn't looking. The hardest working man in the city was grieving over her loss of mobility like he was the one who had his spine severed. Barbara didn't want to be a physical reminder for him and insisted on keeping some distance.

She didn't want him to see her fail. Deep down, she knew that whatever she decided on doing, this wheelchair was going to prevent her from really shining.

Why couldn't she have just di—

A tapping on her window interrupted her thoughts. The window, her only portal where she could see the outside world. The same window where a dark-clad man was waving at her.

She rolled her eyes and gestured for her guest to let himself in. It wasn't like she had the energy to lock it anyway.

"You really should start locking this. You never know who might come in," Nightwing jested as he slipped in.

"Yes, because I have so much in here that people are ramming down the door to get." Maybe there was a little bitterness in her voice there but she didn't give a damn anymore. What was the point?

"Bad day?" Barbara could hear the hesitancy in Dick's voice. There were so many things that ran through her head, all of them replies of the sarcastic kind.

She didn't say any of them. Instead, the paraplegic woman sighed, slumping in her permanent seat.

"Barbara? I can't imagine what you're going through," Dick began, placing a gloved hand on her shoulder. She eyed it lazily, wondering briefly for a moment how he managed to get so close to her. Not that it mattered or anything. "After everything, you didn't deserve for how things went. You didn't deserve this."

"And how does you saying that change anything?" she snapped at him, though she did not remove his hand. "And don't apologize. Unless it'll let me walk again, don't bother."

Silence. That's what she expected. It occurred to her that she was hearing silence a lot more lately.

A sigh from Dick made her cock her head to a side. Usually that meant whoever was speaking with her was getting ready to leave. Then, "We found something interesting tonight. You know about our stakeout, right?"

Stakeout? Oh yeah, that. Better humor him. "What about it?"

Next thing she knew, Dick had removed his hand from her shoulder only to return it in front of her face. The lighting was reflecting off something that was pinched between his fingers. What was that thing? Looked like a prism yet—

"Is that a diamond?" she blurted out.

A chuckle. "Yeah. Turns out that our perps aren't hoarding drugs or guns or anything else. They're bringing in diamonds, Barb. They got a whole apartment full of them."

Barbara couldn't help it; her analytical part of her mind was going back over everything that she had been told about Dick and Tim's operation. They had been investigating some mobsters in the...slums? No, the Projects, though what the difference between the two was anyone's guess. And they were filling up one of the apartments with diamonds?

What would mobsters want with diamonds?

"They're part of a larger outfit?" she found herself asking despite herself.

"We got them linked to Thorne."

Barbara looked up into Dick's eyes. He had removed his domino mask at some point, so she could actually look him in his blue-colored eyes. "Are you sure it's Thorne?"

"Tracked one of them going into Throne's headquarters. Multiple times too," Dick explained. "If Thorne isn't bringing them in, he might be interested in buying them."

"But why?" Barbara blurted out.

"You tell me. Why would the head of the last standing mob family in Gotham be interested in diamonds, outside of money?" Dick asked. His eyes flickered upwards toward the ceiling, as if a thought had occurred to him. "Also diamond smuggling. Diamonds and diamond smuggling."

Though not unheard of, diamond smuggling wasn't something a person came across everyday. Why was Rupert Thorne getting involved with it?

"From what little I know, most diamond smuggling involves Africa. I'm not sure about this, but I think the diamond industry has a restriction on conflict diamonds, a lot of which come from Africa."

"Sounds like you're not too sure about it," the only costumed vigilante in the room remarked.

"It's been a while. I don't even know why I know that much. Must have picked it up somewhere," Barbara shrugged.

"Would you mind looking into it? Anything you can find on diamond smuggling and why Thorne would want to get involved with it?" Dick asked. "Out of the three of us, you've always been the best with research. As smart as Tim thinks he is, he's kinda struggled with that part."

"You too," she added, smiling slightly at the male's wince.

"Yeah, me too. So are you going to help us out a bit. It would take a load off my mind if we know what we're getting into."

It was obvious that he meant nothing by that last part, but Barbara couldn't help but think about if they had done more research before her spine was severed. Would that have made a difference?

"Barb?"

"I'll see what I can do. I'm not going to promise you anything," she said at last.

Dick's hand returned to her shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. "Take care of yourself, alright Barb? Trust me, it hasn't been the same. We both miss you." Turning away from her, the vigilante placed the diamond he held next to the keyboard of her computer.

She grunted in reply, waiting until after her window had shut again after Dick's exit before she threw a look towards her computer. Should she get started with Dick's request now? Or could it wait a bit?

A part of her wanted to wait until morning because now was asking too much from her already. Not that she had done much of anything today. Then there was this very small part of her that urged her to turn the electronic device on, at least learn something about diamond smuggling before calling it a night. With every passing second, that smaller part seemed to be getting stronger.

Well, what could it hurt? It wasn't as if she had any big plans for tonight anyways.

* * *

It had been a while, but Gordon found that there wasn't a better time to form a new task force.

In this case, the task force that he was forming had one purpose: to identify and apprehend the now confirmed serial killer that was stalking the streets of Gotham City.

In law enforcement, there was only one type of criminal that was dreaded. Mobsters, murderers, rapists, burglars, muggers, arsonists, you name it, were all ones that any cop was willing to face head on. It was the serial killer alone that sent shivers down their spines. This was not out of fear of the perpetrator, but of the difficulty that such a case always brought. With all the other criminals, there was a pattern, there were trails of evidence that pointed to specific individuals, there was _reason_ and _logic_ behind those crimes.

You stole for money. You used fire for fraud or to cover up a crime. You killed for a variety of reasons, such as financial gain, cover up, or eliminating competition. All of those could be reasoned out.

A serial killer was different. A serial killer killed for personal power, for pleasure, for any sick and twisted reason they could come up with. They were indiscriminate, with absolutely no connection to their victim. They had perfected the act of the random act of violence.

It was a nightmare for all involved.

Even Gordon had to admit that he knew the reluctance behind declaring the presence of a serial killer. For the past couple of weeks, that reluctance had plagued him. As a result, there were now nine victims and no suspects. This could not continue. He would not being doing his job if he did.

For such an investigation, there were only two people he trusted to head this thing. One was Harvey Bullock, his informal right hand man. Rough around the edges, and more than willing to dirty his hands to get to the bottom of things, those were traits that were going to be needed for this.

Normally, the other person would have been Sarah Gordon, formally Essen, but right now her workload was too great to ask more of her. The only other choice he had was similar to Bullock, what with the bullheadedness and desire to stamp out crime. Yet he was a completely different animal. He was Sergeant Maxwell Cort, a man who was by the book but...clumsy about it. Unlike Bullock, he had a line he wouldn't cross, but like Bullock he was willing to get his hands dirty.

These were two men who in appearance were polar opposites. Bullock was unkempt, looked like he slept in his clothes complete with a food stain here and there. He had a bit of a gut, fat tending to overshadow muscle. He did not take care of his physical appearance whatsoever. Cort, on the other hand, was clean-shaven outside of a thick mustache, was in top shape physically, and always dressed professionally. When you thought of the word cop, Cort was who popped up in your mind.

One thing they did have in common, as mentioned before, was their bullheaded stubbornness and drive to uphold the law. Naturally, both had bad opinions over the collection of vigilantes that the city was gathering. And they were both vocal about it.

For this serial killer, the commissioner was going to need that bullheaded stubbornness.

That was why he was at the scene of the latest crime. Everything was being treated with the utmost delicacy. The entire alley was taped off and only forensics was allowed in. High priority was being given to this due to its recency. Because the weather and the elements hadn't had time do too much damage, potential clues to their killer's identity had a stronger chance of still being here.

Due to his suit and tie, Gordon was able to spot Cort out of the sea of blue. The larger man was just inside the taped off area, head bent slightly as he wrote in a small notebook. It was most likely his observations and anything that the forensics team mentioned out loud. Gordon had done the same thing when he had been a detective.

Approaching the sergeant from behind, the commissioner said aloud, "What do we have so far?"

Cort didn't even turn around to face him. "Unidentified white Caucasian female, approximately thirty to thirty-five years of age. Approximately five feet, five inches. Brown hair. She was found covered with a piece of cardboard, her body is lying on her stomach. Forensics say that there was still some warmth to her, meaning she was killed less than two hours ago. Multiple stab wounds, her throat has been slit. As of now, the cause of death is blood loss due to physical trauma. The coroner's on his way and has been told to get an autopsy done ASAP."

"Anything else?" Gordon asked, spotting Cort's observations himself. The cardboard had been removed from the body, though he wasn't worried about it. Pictures of the crime scene had been taken already before more invasive exploration had been done.

"Someone noticed that the crime scene had been tampered with." Now Cort turned around to give Gordon a stony stare. "It's not much but a drop of blood has been disturbed. A sample is being taken anyway, but right now no one knows who could have done it."

"Any ideas?"

"I have one. The Bat-freak." It was almost spat out like a curse. There was so much venom in Cort's voice.

It was no secret that Cort was what you would call "Anti-Batman." In fact, he was one of the louder voices, even louder that Bullock. And he made no attempt to hide what he felt about it. There was no begrudging respect here.

Which, by default, made Gordon what you would call "Pro-Batman." Not that that was his official position, but from the way Cort saw it, anyone who didn't have Batman as a high priority was not on his side, so that made him, Gordon, part of the problem.

It was a good thing Gordon knew how to keep people like this busy. One good thing you could say about Cort was that if you gave him an assignment, he would put aside any hate he had and do the job. But, as soon as he was finished, he was right back where he left off.

This would explain why Cort was being "nice" right now. There was a murder victim and a case to build. This would be all that mattered until it was over.

"I wonder what was so important about that drop of blood," Gordon spoke, subtly bringing them back to a more important topic.

"Other than the fact that it was further away from the body than all the other blood spatter?" And Cort had gone along with it, not because he had picked up on the change, but because of his virtue of being easily distracted. "I've been seeing a couple other murders like that."

Now there was his opening. "I've seen more and all recent. There's something I'd like to talk with you about. If you'll come with me?"

The larger man raised an eyebrow but pulled up the strip of police tape that separated the two of them and ducked under it. Gordon led the way so that they had some space between them and the other officers. This also included the general public.

"By my count, this possibly makes this number nine," he began.

"Number nine?" Cort repeated, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"I've been noticing a pattern of murders recently, Sergeant. Based on the current evidence and the similarities between the crimes, I have been led to conclude that there's a serial killer in town," the commissioner explained.

"This isn't just some big distraction to keep our eyes away from that law-breaking bat, is it?" Cort's eyes narrowed with suspicion. Damn, that whole "either you're with me or against me" trope.

"My official position remains that if we can, we apprehend the Batman on sight. This, however, has nothing to do with the vigilante until proven otherwise. Now Cort, I'm planning to form a task force to track down our serial killer and I would like for you to be one of the men in charge of it."

Ah, a look of surprise from the stubborn man. Gordon had managed to get through to him, it seemed. Then Cort's eyes narrowed.

"Who's the other man? Your wife?"

Sometimes he forgot, but Cort could also be sharp at the most unexpected of times. "Bullock."

"Bullock?!" Cort practically snarled. "That man's not worth his badge and you want to stick him with something like this?! He's as dirty as half the department and you know it."

"None of this involves organized crime, Sergeant. What better way to distract him then? This is a killer who is going to kill again, of that you can be certain. Our duty is to protect the city from all threats and right now, this one is going to be the one that sets everyone into a panic. We need to pick and choose our battles wisely, especially when everyone is watching and waiting for us to mess up."

"I get it, so long as you're the one that's picking the battles, that's all that matters to you," Cort grumbled. "I'll go along with it, Gordon. But don't think I'm forgetting about what we really should be doing."

"Trust me when I say this, Sergeant: you're not going to be the only person unhappy with me today. What you and Bullock can do is going to be very important for this investigation. Before I go, do you have any ID on the victim?"

Cort rolled his eyes but nonetheless answered, "We found a suitcase near the entrance to the alley. It's been tagged and is heading to HQ. We'll found out who Jane Doe is here."

Gordon nodded. "And notify her next of kin when you do. Whoever her family is, they will need to know what happened to one of their own. We can't forget those that have been left behind."

* * *

With dawn brought Harvey Dent back to the halls of City Hall. He was a very busy man these days with a lot of things on his mind. He didn't show any of that, not one hint that he might be stressed out beyond anything anyone could ever imagine.

City Hall was like a shark tank. Fear, anxiety, weakness, all of these were a drop of blood that would throw all the predators here into a feeding frenzy.

It was with a straight back and squared shoulders that he strolled towards his portion of the building. To reach his office, he would have to go through what was called "the Pit." Simply put, this was where his staff resided along with his assistant district attorneys and the like. Only during the opening of dawn and the closing of night would this place ever be called calm. During the day it was hectic with phone calls, lawyers, staff members, and investigators talking shouting, and doing their jobs, and the constant hum of shifting papers.

It used to be Harvey had his office away from the Pit, down the hallway with only a front desk separating his office from the rest of the building. After the last attack (it was disturbing how that could be said so easily), the district attorney decided it would be better to relocate his office, and among the rest of his staff would it go.

On the plus side, he was closer to the action and could also keep a closer eye on his subordinates. The downside, he could be found easier now.

As he strolled through the empty Pit, movement ahead of him caught his eye and caused him to slow down a bit. Well, what do we have here? Seemed like a member of his staff was an early bird too. This must be the first time she beat him here because usually he was all alone this time of day.

She was dressed conservatively, a blouse and pantsuit ensemble he spied out. The blouse was white, naturally, but everything else was a dark color, either grey or black. And speaking of black, she had some long brown hair trailing down to her shoulders.

He couldn't see much else from the angle he was at, so he thought that some light, early morning conversation couldn't hurt.

"I'd say you were burning the midnight oil, but it's too early for that."

She didn't seem surprised that he was there. There was no jumping, no sign of surprise. Oh wait, now that she had looked at him over her shoulder, there was a bit of surprise there. From what he had gathered so far, she wasn't surprised that someone else was here, just surprised at who they were.

Wow, those were some striking blue eyes she had.

"Mr. Dent, I didn't expect you to be so…" she began to speak, only to trail off. It was almost as if she was awed by his presence.

"So...what?" he prompted.

"Late. You're usually here earlier."

Okay, he hadn't expected to be reprimanded by a member of his staff, but at least it was a sign he was being treated like a human for once. Now that she was turning to fully face him, he recognized her, internally berating himself for being so late on the recognition.

"We all can't be superhuman, Kate. Lord knows you've been trying," he replied. With a wink, he added, "If you do find out you do have superpowers, though, let them be super lawyer powers. It would make thing so much easier around here."

Kate Spencer shook her head at him. "Most people would consider super lawyer powers to be the abilities of a supervillian, Mr. Dent."

"All the more reason to change the hearts and minds of the people," he quipped. "Call me Harvey. I hear people call me Mr. Dent and I think of my father."

"Now, now, don't be getting frisky there, Harvey. Aren't you supposed to be married?"

That wasn't Kate's voice. Harvey would have been awfully surprised if someone as pretty as her had such a bass. Worse yet, he knew that voice and was suddenly grateful that it hadn't come from her.

"What brings you here, Mort," the district attorney replied as he turned, finding a shorter, portly man standing several feet away. Though he was slightly balding, that did nothing to erase the smugness of the man and the three piece suit that must cost in the quadruple digits only added to it. "I don't recall indicting one of your clients recently. Though, if I've heard from the grapevine right, that'll change any day now."

"Oh, don't mind me Harv, I'm just checking out my new office," the defense attorney said. A bit presumptuous-hold on a moment. Mort's eyes were looking around the Pit but focused straight on Kate. "You should have told me you had such a lovely member of your staff. Makes me wonder why I did run sooner."

"You haven't won yet," Harvey stated. "Last I checked, I'm ahead in the polls."

"And I'm rising," Mort retorted. Then, to Kate, "You look like a hard worker there. Don't you worry about your job, sweetheart. Once I trounce Harvey here, I'll make you a bonafide assistant D.A."

"I'm already an assistant D.A., Mr. Weinstein," Kate said dryly.

"Well, well, Harvey you've done half my work for me." That was better. Mort's gaze was on him now, and not Kate. Not that he wanted someone as corrupt as Mort Weinstein looking in his direction, but it was much more preferable that he wasn't leering at his staff.

"Unless you have business here, Mort, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. You might scare away some of my interns." It was meant to be a jest, but more importantly he wanted this man out of his offices.

"Those interns of yours should be scared of me. I'm the best defense attorney in Gotham," Mort replied. "I even have the Rolex to prove it." Harvey fought to hide his disgust as Mort pulled up his suit sleeve to show off the mentioned Rolex watch. "Besides, what's so wrong about two old classmates shooting the breeze, Harv?"

"If you want to shoot the breeze, we can meet at a lounge down the street." Now Harvey was beginning to lose his patience.

"Tempting, but I rather see you at your fundraiser tonight." Harvey did not like the wink that was thrown at him. "Maybe I can convince some of your donors to see the light and join the winning side."

"You can try, but until then, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. There's too much to do around here and not enough time to entertain you." No more mister nice guy now. He said that with some added steel in his voice.

"I get it, I get it, but you won't be able to kick me out of here forever. I'm going to be taking your job, Harvey, and the people of Gotham are going to give it to me," Mort boasted. "See you later."

Only after that piece of shit had left did anyone speak. "So that's the guy who's running against you?" Kate asked dubiously.

"Yes, the best and brightest the mob can throw at me," the dark-haired man replied. He was tempted to comb his fingers through his hair, but he had spent too much time this morning getting it styled just right.

Still, Mort's appearance reminded Harvey that he needed to contact Carlos, his campaign manager. He was still running a political campaign and needed to know where things currently stood. He wouldn't admit it, but the thought that Mort Weinstein stood a chance at beating him and taking over this office frightened him.

That could not be allowed.

"What's with the coin flip?" Kate asked, interrupting his thoughts.

Blinking, Harvey realized he had fallen back into that old habit. Usually, when stressed he'd fiddle with a coin in his hands. It was quite a sign that he was flipping it now. When he was younger, he had gone through a "gangster phase" and had tried to use flipping a coin as a gimmick to intimidate others. It hadn't and he had only looked stupid for it. Thankfully, that phase had passed.

"Old habit," was all he said. "Take it easy, and make sure you aren't like me and burning the candle at both ends."

As he turn to head for his office, he heard Kate call after him, "Take your own advice Harvey."

Good to know some people listened to him.

* * *

A droning sound filled the elevator, Bruce Wayne leaning his back against the far wall, looking boredly up at the ceiling.

It wasn't often Bruce found himself being bullied around and that was exactly why he was in this elevating cage. Today was supposed to be an easy one, or so he had hoped. Those hopes had been dashed the moment Lucius Fox entered his office and all but demanded he go do an inspection of one of the Wayne subsidiaries.

And to be honest, Lucius had made some pretty valid points.

" _Good morning, Bruce," Lucius greeted him, strolling into the office was several files underneath his arm. "I hope you're feeling energetic today."_

 _The billionaire stared at his trusted business partner, his eyes blinking owlishly. "Uhh, not particularly."_

" _Well then, some fresh air will do you some good. You need to head over to Wayne Pharmaceuticals. It's their turn for their quarterly report and I think it would be in your best interest if you familiarized yourself with what they're up to."_

" _Can't we send Lauren, or Jack?" Bruce responded earnestly. Essentially what Lucius was asking him to do was take a tour of the company, smile at the excited researchers, shake a few hands, and then leave after giving a big, verbal, seal of approval from the company CEO. It was a dog-and-pony show that he rather skip entirely._

" _C'mon, it'll be good for you," the dark-skinned man pressed jovially. "It's been too long since they've seen you over there and it's time you go remind them what you look like."_

 _Bruce sighed. "Honestly, Lucius, I'm not in the mood for that."_

 _Lucius stared at him for several moments before he too sighed. "Okay, I'm going to be honest with you, Bruce," he spoke in a tone that definitely got his attention. It wasn't often the man used this tone with him, but when he did, the dark-haired man found it in his best interest to listen to him._

" _You've been slacking in your duties to Wayne Enterprises. You hardly come in anymore, and considering the number of vacations you take, that's saying something. It'd be one thing if you were off jet-setting the world, but you're not doing that. As far as I can tell, you're holing up in your house and only come out when there's some charity ball that begged you to show up. In the meantime, there's been a lot going on with your family's company that would behoove you to become more invested in. I'm not the only one to notice this either—the stockholders are starting to suspect things and if they're on edge, you better be too."_

 _Each statement hit Bruce hard. It was the truth that he had been neglecting Wayne Enterprises, but it wasn't due to a sudden need for being reclusive. His duties to the Justice League, not to mention his training of Cassandra, had taken up a lot more of his attention than he had anticipated. The only other trip he had made had been to Guam for...research purposes unrelated to the family business. He had found himself sleeping throughout the day on more than one occasion, almost to the point of it becoming a habit._

" _You've got a lot of work ahead of you, Bruce, if you want to turn this around. Visiting Wayne Pharmaceuticals is a step in the right direction and I highly suggest you go."_

Which brought him to now. A sharp _ding!_ Interrupted his musings, followed by the elevator doors opening. Sucking in a deep breath, Bruce forced himself to step out of the elevator, following his personal assistant, a young blonde by the name of Jessica.

The room was brightly lit, reflecting off the white walls, floor, and ceiling to an almost eye-blindingly level. Men and women dressed in white lab coats, face masks, and hair nets were busy at evenly placed desks, working on various formulas and what have you. Many of them stopped what they were doing, staring at the billionaire as he strolled through the work stations.

"As I live and breathe, Bruce Wayne!" a voice announced, ensuring the dark-haired man had everyone's attention. Turning his head to find the source of the voice, Bruce found the one person that wasn't wearing white, a young man in a dark suit who was approaching rapidly towards him.

As the man came closer, Bruce found himself doing a double-take. Whoever this guy was, he bore a striking resemblance to...well, to him. In fact, he looked like a taller, broader, younger version of himself. Perhaps the biggest difference between them was the dark-haired man's excited face as he stopped right in front of the billionaire and took his hand, shaking it enthusiastically.

"It is an honor to finally meet you, sir," the man greeted him, Bruce shaking his daze off as he returned the gesture. "I had heard you were coming, but I didn't expect you to arrive so early."

"Nice to meet you too…" Bruce trailed off.

"Oh! Where are my manners? I'm Lincoln March, one of your up-and-comers if I don't say so myself." He flashed a smile. "I've just been promoted to the Board of Directors."

"Well, good for you." He gave another shake of March's hand and attempted to pull back, only to find his hand still held firmly. March's blue eyes bored into his, unnervingly so.

"Umm, mind giving me my hand back?"

"Hmm? Oh, of course. I apologize." Finally, March released his hold, allowing Bruce to drop his arm down to dangle at his side. "This is just such an exciting day, so I do hope you won't find my exuberance too imposing. Come! There is much to show you!"

Immediately, Lincoln March guided him through the main room, pointing out the various stations and their primary projects. It was rather routine drug creation and calculations, so there wasn't much that interested Bruce.

That changed the moment the passed through a set of doors on the opposite side of the room. The next lab specifically housed the Research and Development wing of the company, where new pharmaceutical drugs were being designed and created. One of the projects that caught the billionaire's eye was a stronger pain medication without the normal side effects of opioids or NSAIDs. It was definitely a too-good-to-be-true concept, but it was at least something worth monitoring.

Then there were the various anti-poison and anti-venom formulas, an attempt at making a vaccine to reduce the mortality of toxin ingestion and injection. It wasn't the first time he had heard of this project, but from the initial specs given to him by March and one of the researchers, it seemed they had found a process that showed real promise.

Despite all of this, a set of glass doors with high levels of security kept drawing Bruce's eye. It became so obvious, even March noticed his drifting attention. "Let me guess: you want to know what's going on in that lab," the dark-haired man stated, a growing smirk on his face.

Bruce returned the smirk with a bemused look of his own. "How'd you guess?"

"I didn't make the Board of Directors for nothing." March nodded towards the doors. "Let me show you."

Without further delayed, Bruce was led to the doors, where March entered his security access code. The doors soon slid open, a hissing sound being made as compressed air was released. Moving through the doorway, they soon entered a small room, though no less active than the other labs. There was more specialized equipment mingled with the microscopes, beakers, Bunsen burners, and such.

And standing at one of the tables was a man in a white lab coat and surgical cap. The man looked up and stared at them for a moment before he set down the vials he was holding in his gloved hands. He didn't say anything, but the haste in his movements spoke volumes of his surprise, if not eagerness.

The scientist quickly walked towards the group, pulling off one of his gloves before he held his hand out to Lincoln March. "It's good to see you, Sir," he greeted the man.

March took the offered hand and gave it a hearty shake. "Kirk, you are in luck." Wrapping an arm around Kirk's shoulder, he spun around and gestured to Bruce with his other arm. "Allow me to introduce to you Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne, this is the top scientific mind at Wayne Pharmaceuticals, Dr. Kirk Langstrom."

Suddenly, the eagerness left Dr. Langstrom, being replaced with nervousness. "It's good to meet you, Mr. Wayne," he said as he offered to shake hands.

Bruce returned the gesture, dropping his hand to his side once they finished shaking hands. "So, mind telling me what you're doing in here that's making Lincoln so smug?"

"Most certainly!" Moving away from March, Langstrom held an arm up as he indicated the work station he had previously been standing at. "As you already know, Wayne Pharmaceutical works tirelessly to cure the ills of the modern world. Diseases such as AIDS and cancer are worked around the clock. In this lab, we're focused on finding a cure for...well, maybe not as exciting as cancer. Deafness. In here, we're trying to cure deafness."

The billionaire raised an eyebrow at that. "A cure for deafness?" he repeated skeptically.

"That's right," the doctor confirmed. "There are millions of people in this world that have never heard a note of music, children that do not know the sound of their own mother's voice."

"That's sad and all, but I hardly believe there's some medicine we can make for that?" Bruce interjected.

"Please, Mr. Wayne," March urged him. "Let him finish."

Unfortunately for Langstrom, he seemed at a loss for words. "Well, I…" he stammered.

"There's more to our work than a simple medication, Mr. Wayne," a feminine voice suddenly spoke up, causing the men to look for it. Approaching them was a young woman, her blond hair tied behind her head in a ponytail. Upon seeing Bruce's questioning look, she introduced herself. "Dr. Francine Langstrom. I work with my husband, Kirk, on our research."

"That's right," Langstrom was quick to agree. "Francine is every bit as important to our project as I am—she probably even knows more if I may say so."

"Why don't you tell them about your project," March prompted.

"Yes, yes, of course." Langstrom paused to compose himself, taking a deep breath. "One aspect we've been looking into is the use of sonar. There are many animals that actually use sound waves to see and hear. By harnessing this trait, I believe we can restore a damaged auditory sense."

"So you're looking into animals," Bruce remarked. "Which ones?"

"At first we started with dolphins," Langstrom began. "Things were going well...until we realized there was a flaw. Because dolphins are a marine-based animal, their echolocation is designed for that environment. We had to look for a land based mammal and we found one."

"Which one?"

"Bats."

That drew Bruce's attention even as Langstrom explained, "Bats use echolocation—the basis of sonar—to search for food. That's where Francine comes in, she's the best authority on the animals."

"Best authority, huh?"

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that," Francine responded, her lips curved into a small smile, "but I am quite knowledgeable. My father actually developed a system that uses a certain frequency to attract bats, that way we could study them. We've used the same technology in our own research to obtain samples."

"Is there any way I can see this tech?" Bruce asked. "I would like to get a better idea on how this all works for you."

Not to mention the other uses he could think of. Though he wasn't sure about this deafness research, the equipment that could attract bats held some sort of potential. While he had no intention on weaponizing it, it was possible to create another use for it. As Francine began to guide their little group, Bruce felt himself beginning to enjoy this little excursion.

They were led towards a glass enclosure, behind which held an assortment of jungle gym equipment. One would think it belonged at a children's playground until you took a closer look and saw the small animals that hung off the bars.

That was a lot of bats.

"Here is our little BatCatcher 2000," Francine Langstrom remarked as she directed the billionaire's attention towards a box-like instrument. Grey in color, the sides were flat and smooth; on top were a series of knobs and buttons and a half-spherical speaker. "This here is how we managed to catch our current lot of donors. Or should I say our donors catch themselves?" The female scientist gave a chuckle.

Without prompting, she continued, "It sends out a frequency, similar to their echolocation, that our little winged friends identify as food and brings them over as fast as their little wings will let them. We had but to open the cages and in they went. None were harmed in their capture. We had so many that we had to let some of them go. As our worked progresses, we managed to fine-tune this instrument so that we can focus more on a specific species of bat.

"Once we bring them here, we take samples. We identify which species will be of more use and release the ones that aren't," Francine continued. "As you can imagine, that was the easy part. Kirk, tell Mr. Wayne more about the hard part."

"Oh, yes, of course," Kirk coughed into his hand, Bruce noted how the man seemed more anxious than before, something that was more noticeable after witnessing the supreme confidence of his wife. "F-from the samples we obtained, we mapped each species' genome and identified which genes were responsible for the bat's echolocation ability. That was the hardest part. Originally, we had thought it would be a process with multiple steps, but that has changed in the past few weeks. Everything progressed at a faster pace as we began to develop a serum that could begin to alter the physical structures within the human ear."

Despite everything that he had experienced in his life, Bruce was having a little difficulty believing that. "A serum that can alter ears?" he asked skeptically. "How did you come to that conclusion?"

"You think these computers are here to make the room look pretty?" Lincoln spoke for the two researchers. "Those are some of the best machines in the building with the most advanced programming that Wayne Enterprises' R&D division has come up with."

"We've been using that technology to run simulations of the various formulas and chemical makeups we have devised," Francine picked up.

"But simulations are far from the real thing," Bruce pointed out.

"They're better to have than going in blind," Francine replied. "They have been very helpful in eliminating dead ends and keeping us on track. In fact, they're responsible for the rapid pace we've been setting."

"Listen to me, Bruce," Lincoln said. "We're taking every single precaution to make sure nothing goes wrong here. We aren't about to make a mistake and create something we have no understanding of or control over. I am not going to allow something that endangers the public."

"Safety is first and foremost," Francine agreed. "It's why before we go into human trials, we'll be starting with animals. If you'll look over there," she gestured to a wall that had rows upon rows of cages set up against it, "you'll see the lab rats. These aren't your normal ones as we have been breeding them to be hearing impaired. They will be the first subjects to go through the process once we have produced our serum and the predictive data backs it up. This isn't Elliot Pharmaceuticals."

"I see you've thought of everything," the billionaire said slowly. While he still held his skepticism, he was more than willing to withhold his judgment of this project a while longer. He couldn't deny that there were people out there suffering from deafness. He had limited understanding of the ear, but he knew enough about how complex it was inside the ear. It was more than an eardrum; bones were involved and there were structures that no serum could spontaneously create.

This was something he would need to keep an eye on, the reference to Elliot Pharmaceuticals notwithstanding.

"Well, let's leave our resident geniuses to it," Lincoln said. "There's still much for you to see and we don't have all day. By the way, keep up the great work guys." The last part was said out loud to the research team, even as March was leading him out of the restricted area.

Yes, there was still a lot more to see here. So far, Bruce had seen some promising projects to look into. What else was in store for him?


	4. A Scorned Drake

A Scorned Drake

What had Jim been thinking, assigning him to work with Cort? He hated that guy!

Still, Harvey Bullock would do what he was told, especially since this task force thing was one of the biggest things going on around here in a long, long time.

Personally, Bullock liked it better this way. No freaks in masks and capes to chase, no big crisis to try and fight, just your typical investigative manhunt. And for a serial killer. Now that is what he went into law enforcement for. Well, that and being legally able bash some heads in whenever he wanted.

Half the fun of this was being sucked out by Cort, who wanted to do every little thing by the book. Everything had procedures and protocols and yadda, yadda, yadda, yawn. How boring could a guy get? Oh wait, he knew. Cort could be.

But you know what? If Cort wanted to be in charge so badly, Bullock would let him. He would concentrate on the important things, like figuring out who their vic was. She must have been a pretty thing before being stabbed like a Thanksgiving turkey.

Still, their perp had messed up and left her luggage behind. Earlier, Bullock had taken one of the lab geeks aside and told him to get him all identification on the vic to him as soon as possible. Screw Cort and his bureaucracy.

Well, lookie, lookie, something was paying off. The lab geek he had spoken to just dropped off a folder on his desk. Snatching it up, the lieutenant read through the info.

Kathleen Turner. Thirty-nine years of age...whoa, she was older than he thought she was. Okay, skip all that Bullock, where was next of kin? Next of kin, next of kin...there it is.

Oh boy, she had a sister. Maybe she was as pretty as her. Oh, wait, married. Damn. And to a guy with the last name of Drake. Right. Well, time to give them the bad news. In his experience, it was best to be quick about it. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.

That's what he always told himself when it came to doing the hardest part of this job.

* * *

Tim had been taking a bit of interest in his third period physics class. Well, okay, it wasn't exactly physics per se, but most of the content in it was going to be in that class anyway so why not just call it that? The laws of motion, simple machines, speed equals distance over time, force, circuits, and all that other sciency stuff was taught here.

Nothing about biology or chemistry yet. Those were for higher grades.

As for his interest in this class, well, he had been doing a lot of application of the stuff. Jumping from rooftops (well, not exactly that) to get the literal drop on muggers and your common criminals was being surprisingly explained in here. Not that the teacher was literally doing that.

It was something Tim was doing by himself, and not for extra credit. If he could just figure it out, there was a way he could deliberately apply this stuff, knowingly.

Who knows, maybe it'll pay in dividends later.

That had been his plan when the summons to go to the office came. No one was more surprised that he was. Tim didn't get into trouble; he kept himself off radar as much as possible. It made all the curious stares being directed at him uncomfortable.

Pretending that he wasn't the center of attention, he stood up from his cramped little desk and headed for the front where the teacher was holding out the hall pass. Tim did his best, really, to not take a glance at the teacher's face, dreading maybe a look of disdain or—okay he looked and saw curiosity there too.

Tim didn't know what to think about that.

After that, he was strolling down the hallway, flashing his pass to any overzealous hall monitor that might be out and about. Maybe he was in trouble, maybe he wasn't, but that didn't mean he had to tempt fate anymore than he probably already had.

There was a small part of him that wanted to whistle, flip fate that middle finger, and at least enjoy what was most likely some kind of mistake.

He ignored that part.

Entering the office, he flashed the front desk receptionist a smile and said, "I was called up here. What's going on?"

"You're Tim Drake?" the receptionist asked in reply. He gave a nod and watched as the middle aged woman picked up the phone and pressed a button. "Tim Drake is here, should I show him in?"

What is that all about?

As soon as the receptionist put the phone back down, she looked him in the eye and said, "Follow me."

The teen shrugged his shoulders and did as he was told. Now he was more lost than before. Not physically speaking since the front desk lady was showing him towards the principal's office for some reason.

As she opened the door, Tim did freeze up, if only for a second, because there was a very familiar guy in that office. He was standing, wore unkempt clothing, and was very overweight. The teenaged vigilante-by-night recognized him as Bullock. At least, that's what Barbara said his name was. He didn't remember a first name or a rank or anything. Just that name.

Oh shit, what was that guy doing here? A chill suddenly went up his spine. Did...did this have to do with his late night...activities? Were there any cops that were on to him and the Batclan?

Keep your cool, Tim. You've gone this far and only Batman knows what you're up to. You've done everything to make sure no one else can find out. You are in the clear. There is no way they can know about what you do. You are—

— _hold on a sec, Dad was here?_

He could have hit himself. In plain view, sitting in a chair in front of the principal's desk was his father. And…and Dad didn't look so good. The older man was sitting hunched over, shoulders sagging a bit. As if sensing his son's eyes were on him, the head of the Drake family looked up and…

Tim had never seen his father look like this before. Sad wasn't the right word to describe it. That made the teen wonder, what could make someone as strong as his dad like this. Because to him, his father was always strong, what with his football build and mustache and…

"Hey Tim," his father greeted. At least he didn't sound sad. A little tired but he was trying to make a show that he was up for anything.

"Come on in, kiddo. Close the door while you're at it," Bullock spoke up.

That was ominous. Very neutral sounding there. Then again, he really didn't know this this guy. Not like Barbara did.

"What's going on? I swear, whatever happened, it wasn't me," Tim stated, shutting the door to the office. It was like he was sealing off any chance of escape he had.

"Oh? You've been up to something?" Bullock was looking at him now. From the way the man's lips curled upward, the teen took that as a sign that he was teasing.

"You're not in any trouble, Tim," his father cut in. "Just...have a seat. I need to tell you something."

"Okay…" he said slowly but did as his dad asked.

Though it was only a few seconds, it was clear to see his dad was struggling to find the right words he wanted to say. Those seconds seemed to be minutes to the teen who waited for whatever shoe that was going to drop.

"There's been a...something has happened to your aunt, Tim," Dad finally said at last.

The adolescent boy frowned. "Aunt Kathleen?"

"Yes, Aunt Kathleen," came the confirmation. "She was…she was murdered Tim."

It felt like he was punched in the gut. What? What did he mean…what did he mean that his aunt had been murdered? What was happening?

"We know you were at home all night, kid," Bullock spoke up. "Your folks confirmed that. What I would like to know is if your aunt ever told you about anything, like say, a person who might want to hurt her."

"I don't know. We weren't that close," Tim found himself answering. He didn't know why he was having trouble processing this right now. He had seen more than his own fair share of murders so far, even investigated a few. Why did this one feel different, though? "My mom is...was closer…"

Yeah, they were closer. And if Dad was having trouble...Mom! Oh Lord, she must be worse than Dad! While this was his aunt, it was Mom's sister. Oh shit. Oh _shit_.

"Dad, what about Mom? Is she okay?" he demanded, standing up from his seat to move closer to the older man.

"She's not doing too well," Dad answered, looking up at him. "You know how close they were."

Boy did he know. He also knew that if Mom was suffering, that distress would also transfer over to his Dad. Neither liked seeing each other hurt and when it did happen, they both tended to feel the other's pain.

"Why don't you two go home?" Tim blinked at the rough voice that spoke, recognizing that it was Bullock who spoke. "No one would blame you for needing to take the day off. I have what I need already."

Home...while it sounded good, that was not the place where Tim wanted to be. This was almost like that home invasion that made him angry enough to become a vigilante. Except, no one had died back then. Here, right now, someone had. Whatever fear that he had felt last time, there was none of it now.

There was anger. Rage.

Someone needed to pay for this. Someone needed to be hurt.

And Tim was going to find that person responsible for this.

* * *

"So how did it go?" Lucius greeted.

Bruce gave the other man a weary smiled. "Oh, just splendid. I'm rather glad I went. It was...informative."

Lucius clasped a hand onto the dark-haired man's shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. "That's what I like to hear. Just so you know, you'll be stopping by R&D and the Foundation tomorrow. We've got some exciting stuff brewing there."

Bruce couldn't help but look flabbergasted at those words. What the heck was Lucius doing to him, making him do a world-wide tour of Wayne Enterprises? "Lucius, what are you trying to do to me?" he exclaimed with surprise.

His colleague looked slightly confused for a moment, which didn't do anything to alleviate the billionaire's worry. "I'm not sure what you're getting at, Bruce," he spoke slowly.

"All these trips you're making me do. I never had to do them so often, so soon. Now it's like you've planned for me to do some long tour of every department, wave at all the employees, and then go back to my office to...I don't know, feed me or something. What's going on?"

Lucius stared at the younger man for a few moments before he sighed. "I've already told you, Bruce," he replied. "Your presence at Wayne Enterprises has been lacking as of late. If we're going to get into it, it's been over two years. You don't attend board meetings like you used to, you barely come to the office anymore unless I hound you for weeks on end. You're neglecting the company and everyone's starting to notice. Some of our investors are getting spooked."

Bruce blinked owlishly at those words. The way Lucius was putting it, it sounded like he was neglecting his business. That was impossible; he couldn't have been neglecting Wayne Enterprises. Sure, he had been taken some time off lately...make that a lot of time now that he thought about it. It wasn't like he didn't have a good reason for it either. His obligations to the Justice League had been consuming more of his time than he had anticipated, but he was adjusting.

"Listen, Lucius, if this is about those trips I've been taking, it's—"

"You haven't _been_ going on any trips," Lucius interrupted. "I would know, I see our quarterly expense reports. You used to fly all over the country and we could account for that. When you were doing that, it gave the company some indirect exposure, gave the impression we were doing so good that you could take those trips all the time without worry. You're not even doing that anymore. I know you just got back from some vacation, but outside of that it's like you've locked yourself away in that mansion of yours. You haven't gotten to the point of being a second Howard Hughes, but I'm worried that you're wanting to try."

The dark-haired man waved a hand in an attempt to pacify the other man. "Lucius, that's the last thing I'm doing," he tried to reassure. Now that he thought about it, he hadn't been making trips on the company's dollar. It wasn't as if he were all by himself though; a lot of his time at the manor consisted of training Cassandra, so he wasn't alone…

Except that Lucius didn't know about Cassandra.

Huh.

Now that he was really thinking about it, perhaps there was something to what his friend was saying. The more he thought about it, the more Bruce realized that he had been absent from the company for longer than he had previously thought. This bore some thinking.

It was definitely not a good sign that Lucius was repeating himself. Some of the points the man had brought up had been mentioned prior to his trip to their pharmaceuticals division.

"I guess I haven't been doing my job," Bruce admitted uneasily. It was almost shocking to say those words too. It wasn't like him to overlook something as important as Wayne Enterprises. Somehow it had been swept to a side without his realizing. More effort was going to have to be put into organizing his priorities.

"No, you haven't, but luckily we have time to fix this," Lucius said, offering a comforting smile. With a wave of his hand, he indicated for the younger man to take a seat in a nearby chair, something that he did. "For starters, the pharmaceutical wing you just toured—I hope you were impressed."

"I was," Bruce responded as he made himself comfortable. In the meantime, Lucius walked behind a desk and pulled out a folder, placing it down in front of the billionaire.

"That's good." Opening a folder, a letterhead belonging to the Patriarch Biopharmaceuticals was presented, along with a long list of numbers, paragraphs, and what appeared to be photos. "This is Patriarch Biopharmaceuticals," Lucius introduced. "It's our biggest competitor in the pharmaceuticals market and we're going to need an edge if we want to get, and keep, a sizable market share."

Picking up one of the photos—this one being of an older, stern-looking man, light brown hair that was combed to the back exposing a smooth area of skin that hovered over a deeply wrinkled brow, and a gruff-looking expression on his face—Bruce studied it for a moment before flipping the picture to his colleague. "And who is this gentleman?" he questioned.

"That's Abraham Langstrom, owner of Patriarch Biopharmaceuticals."

That caused Bruce to freeze. "Langstrom?" he repeated. "But I just met a Langstrom at our pharm. branch."

Lucius nodded. "Yes, that would be Abraham's son, Kirk. As I understand it, they're not on speaking terms at the moment."

"I wonder why."

Each man chuckled at the remark, right before Lucius changed the subject. "And speaking of speaking terms, I'm sure you're well aware that it's the political season."

Bruce glanced out the window, being greeted with the sight of a large billboard that proudly proclaimed: VOTE WILLIAM HADY FOR MAYOR. TO BUILD A BETTER FUTURE. "I think I recall seeing something about that."

"There's a few fundraisers being held in the coming weeks and of course Wayne Enterprises has been invited to them all. I think it would be beneficial for us to attend them."

"So send our PR team in. They can handle that."

"For some of the races, yes," Lucius agreed. "But there are a few I think it would behoove us to make a larger impression upon. Harvey Dent, for one."

The dark-haired man could see where this was going. However, his colleague did have a point, at least where Dent was concerned. The current status quo the Batman had with both the GCPD and the DA's office had been a direct result of Dent's insistence. From what he knew, the current DA was under a high level of stress due to the campaign season, which had caused him to fall off some of his obligations. If an endorsement from Wayne Enterprises could calm him down…

"I'm assuming you want me to attend this fundraiser," Bruce prodded.

"That's right," Lucius replied. "It's tonight, so get out your tux. Maybe forego your usual date too. We need to make a good impression."

* * *

Though he had gone straight home from school, Tim couldn't stand to be there. As soon as he was through the door, he could hear his mom still sobbing. He had done his best to stay, though. His folks needed him. They needed to be here to help them through this.

Except, he couldn't handle it. So out of the house he went to deal with this tragedy in the family in the only way that made sense to him.

He called up Dick.

Now, Tim admitted that he didn't know all the details of his teammate, such as what he did for his day job. He figured that whatever it was, it didn't pay enough that the young adult could afford better housing. So whatever it was that Dick did, it would not be convenient for him to leave, especially during the day.

The teen could not have been more grateful when Dick informed him he was off duty (which could mean a lot of things there) and that he would meet him at their, ahem, "training grounds."

Yeah, in order to be kickass vigilantes in Gotham, you needed to know how to kick ass, which meant you needed to know how to fight. Anybody could throw a punch, brawl in the streets, and whatever, but to know how to fight was something else altogether.

When starting the Batclan, it had been at Dick's insistence that they all know some kind of martial art. They also needed to be good at it, as well as flexible enough to adapt to any situation they may crop up, situations that you didn't cover in your basic karate class. So the three of them had learned to fight, then kept in practice. Out of the three of them, Tim had found he had the hardest time of it.

Like with a lot of things, though, he got better.

It was good luck that Dick knew a place where they could practice in peace and no one would be suspicious about it. The older vigilante had at some point found one of those self-defense schools that typically held classes for kids and adults. Tim didn't know all the details, just that Dick knew the owner somehow and the guy was nice enough to let them have their own space.

Space would be good; he needed to work through some of this stress.

Naturally, as the best fighter in the Batclan, Dick was also the best sparring partner. After taking one look at him, Dick had said nothing, just began stretching and limbering up. For the next ten minutes, the two of them went at it. Sure, it wasn't anything like you would see in the movies, or what Batman would do, Tim spent most of the time on the offense, his sparring partner letting him tire out first.

By the time he stopped, Tim was panting and sweating, he was feeling sore from exertion, and his coordination was about shot as the last few punches he threw missed by a mile. If he thought about it, he was attempting to brawl more than fight. Yet, he was far from feeling any better than when he first started.

"So...want to talk about it?"

He glanced up, spotting Dick standing a couple feet away and not looking as tired as Tim felt. Sure, the guy was a bit flushed looking, and he was breathing a little heavier than normally, but he was in much better shape right now than he was.

"I'm...I'm...not sure...if I... want to," he panted out, practically heaving for air.

"I could use a break. Take your time," Dick replied as he plopped himself down next to the teen.

Tim would have rolled his eyes at that, if he still had the energy to do it.

The minutes ticked by after that. Though he felt physically tired, it did nothing to calm the emotional turmoil he had been feeling ever since he had been told about his aunt. Seeing how it was affecting his parents, it was not only affecting him but building within him.

Why this shit? Why now? He was still trying to deal with the fact that the threesome that made up the Batclan was down to two and one permanently out of commission. Then there was school and everything else that teens had to worry about. It's just...why?

"My aunt was murdered."

He had to blink at that. Who had spoken? He hadn't been aware he had opened his mouth but that was his voice so…

"Oh. Oh man, sorry." Dick certainly looked uncomfortable right now. Like really, really uncomfortable. Like, Tim had never seen the other this uncomfortable, ever.

"We...we weren't close." Okay, now it was all coming out. "But my mom was. She's her sister and they were, like, really, really close. And…and this whole thing is tearing them apart. My parents. They're hurting and…"

"And you don't...you don't know what to do about it," Dick said quietly.

"It just happened but I want things to go back to the way they were already. I'm sad about my aunt, but...I don't think I'm as sad as I need to be. I should be with them but I'm here instead and...and…" Where was all this coming from? "I don't understand. I don't understand this at all. Have you ever felt like this before?"

Usually he would get some kind of remark from the older man. Not this time. This time he got a few minutes of silence as a reply. This happened to bring out one of the many emotions the dark-haired teen had been feeling all day, that emotion being anger.

Of all the times to not say anything, this was the time? The time when Tim needed to have some kind of answer to his questions and he didn't have one? That—

"I felt like this before. Only there was a lot of anger, a lot of sadness, a lot of things I couldn't figure out," Dick said quietly. Had it not been quiet in here, Tim would have missed it. He almost did due to being too much into his own thoughts. Luckily, he could always say he had sharp hearing.

"This isn't something that's simple, Tim," Dick continued. "From what you've told me, you're hurt because your parents are hurt. That's why you're sad, because they're sad. Like you said, you weren't that close to your aunt. It's okay to not be too shaken up by it. It's also okay to feel how your feeling, to be, I guess, angry at the person who killed her and hurt your parents at the same time."

There was some sense being made here, but Tim was having a hard time grasping it. What exactly was Dick saying? And why wasn't he just saying it instead of being so all over the place?

It was times like these that made it hit home just how little the adolescent male knew about his partner-in-crime. Hmm, that didn't sound right. Partner-in-justice? Sounded corny. Anyway, the man also known as Nightwing didn't talk about himself. Sure he could talk a lot but rarely was it about himself. In that respect, he was a mystery too. Meanwhile, Tim had probably told him more about himself, probably could fill a book with it all.

It was a real one-sided relationship they had. If only he had something to go on, some tidbit that Dick may have dropped at some point, he could figure out what led him to become a vigilante. But that would have to take a backseat to what was more important right now.

Namely, how he was going to fix all this.

"I want him, Dick," he stated.

Whatever not-Dick-like mood Dick was in was gone as the other man gave him a look. "Him who?" he asked.

"I want to find the bastard who killed my aunt," the angry teen answered, glaring straight ahead. "I want him to pay for what he did."

"You're starting to go into some dark places, Tim," came the warning reply. "You're not planning on...what I think you're planning. Are you?"

Now it was his turn to give the other a confused look. "Am I planning what?"

Dick shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "You know. You...you're not planning on killing this guy, right?"

Tim snorted. "Who do you take me for, Nightwing? I want that bastard on death row. I want justice. Like you and Barbara, I didn't get into this for revenge. I still remember what we all promised ourselves. I'm not about to be a killer because of what this bastard did, but it doesn't mean I don't want to punch him in the face."

Dick cracked a smile at him. "That's good to hear. Just wanted to check. Also, you know not to call me that in public, right?"

"Dick, I know you'd stop me before I ever got that far. And I know that if I did go that far, someone else would be on my case." The teen rolled his eyes in contempt that his partner would ever think he would contemplate killing his aunt's murdered. Sheesh, who did he think he was?

"Well, you're the expert on murders. At least, of the three of us you are. How do we go about finding your aunt's killer?" There was a still a kind smile on Dick's face, even though the words he spoke were anything but family friendly.

He smirked. "Guess I'm gonna have to go see the only person we know who can find out the specifics. Once I know what the cops know, I'll be able to hunt this asshole down."

From anger came resolution. And from that came the motivation to fix this wrong and at least do something that would help his parents out.

One way or another, he was going to fix this.

* * *

Her lips parted as her face twisted with disgust. Vicki Vale was still unsure how she had found Simon Belford, but she was positive he had to be the sleaziest private investigator on the market.

The PI sat on the other side of the booth, his face hovering over a plate of what used to be tuna casserole. She hoped it was tuna considering the guy had brought it in with him rather than ordering it off the menu. It was a good thing the redhead had only ordered coffee—her now lukewarm cup sitting off to her left—otherwise this would've been a waste of a lunch break.

Not that she intended on eating now.

Belford looked up from his plate, his beady eyes staring at the reporter as his fedora hat slipped to a side, poorly concealing his thinning hair. "Ya want some o' this?" he offered her.

"No, thanks," Vicki replied in her nicest tone.

"You on a diet or something?"

"I am now."

Belford shrugged his shoulders. "More for me then." He emphasized that as he belched, sickening Vicki even more.

"Alright, you called me out here for this meet," the redhead started, losing her patience with this guy. "Do you have what I want or not?"

"Oh, I got something," the P.I. responded, but made no move to show her what he had. "Though I have ta know: what beef ya got with Wayne? Ain't he ya sugar daddy?"

The reporter groaned. It had been a few weeks since she had hired Belford to tail Bruce Wayne. Her current investigation—and subsequently story—had hit a brick wall, figuratively and literally. The day she had seen the billionaire's scars had convinced her the man wasn't what he claimed to be. Add to that his frequent vanishing acts and what she found to be a non-existent nightlife, and Vicki was quite certain that Bruce Wayne did other, more dangerous things with his time.

Proving it, however, had been a different story. She tried to follow any paper trail she could find, money being her first attempt. If Bruce was indeed Batman, he had done a hell of a job covering his tracks. The Wayne finances hadn't shown any expenditures that would match the kind of funding Batman would need, but then again, that could be hidden in the family company and there was no way she'd be able to find that sort of embezzlement. Too many people had tried to tie Bruce to such charges in the past and all had failed spectacularly. Whether it was a vengeful ex-employee or a business partner trying to get leverage, none had managed to dig up dirt on the playboy.

Right now though, Vicki was hoping that if she could get evidence of Bruce going to some Bat-lair, she'd have all the proof she'd need. That's where Belford came in.

"Ya know, for a guy that likes ta screw women, he don't keep a lot of company at his house," Simon said, drawing Vicki out of her frustrations. "Or if he's doing 'em, he ain't taking them there. I'll have to check out any penthouses he owns, but the house ain't rockin' at Wayne Manor."

Which wasn't a smoking gun at all. God, she wanted her money back. "That's it?" she deadpanned.

Belford smirked. "However, I just found out Mr. Wayne ain't home alone. As ya know, I'm staking the house out and just last week the curtains to his bedroom open up. Now this happens every morning like clockwork. Don't think nothing about it. But then I got this."

At this, Simon's hand disappears below the table before reappearing and slapping a black-and-white photo down on the wooden surface. Peering at it, Vicki had to admit the resolution was pretty good; she had half-expected some grainy picture that was pretty much useless.

This picture, on the other hand, showed a girl opening the bedroom curtains. She was young, that was for sure. Vicki would have even pressed that she was underaged easily. Asian features, dark hair, thin as a bone—there honestly wasn't much attractive about the girl to be honest.

While the redhead's first instinct was to dismiss the photo entirely, a thought occurred to her. There was no knowledge of someone else living at Wayne Manor, not since the untimely death of the old family butler. Had it been common knowledge that Bruce was looking for a new butler, the entire city would've known about it. In fact, everyone would've had a picture of the new employee of the Wayne family.

So why did no one know of this girl?

"Do you know who she is?" Vicki demanded as she stared intently at the picture.

"Now that's where things get wonky," Belford admitted, earning himself the reporter's undivided attention. "I do every search I know, even called in a couple of favors from guys that have some rather extensive databases—nothing. There is nothing on this girl. It's like she appeared out of thin air."

"That's impossible," Vicki scoffed. "She has to have a past. Now I'm paying you good money—"

"Not good enough," Simon muttered.

"—to find out everything you can find on this girl. Now do your job."

"Yeah, about that." The P.I. held his hand out. "It's time for you to pay for my services already rendered."

Vicki stared at the man before she rolled her eyes. Reaching for her purse, she opened it and roughly pulled out a white envelope. Tossing it to her worthless P.I., she then snapped the purse shut before she made to stand up, smoothing out the wrinkles in her white blouse and skirt. "Find out what I want to know, or our next meeting will be our last," she threatened.

Simon Belford had the gall to reply, "Nice doing business with ya."

 _Scumbag._

* * *

Author's Note: Before anyone asks, Simon Belford is an OC, one ShadowMajin came up with. We were unable to find a character in the Batman mythos who would fit this role and as a last resorts, Simon was created. Don't worry, he doesn't have that big a role. I think. Eh...


	5. When Wayne Met Dent

When Wayne Met Dent

The victims were piling up.

There were nine in total including the recently identified Kathleen Turner. As far as Bruce could tell, there weren't any commonalities linking each victim. They were part of different social classes, only two of which had any sort of contact with the other. Three had been killed in the neighborhood in which a victim lived, but they weren't killed immediately after except in one instance. The location of the bodies were scattered throughout Gotham, with no shared characteristics among the sites.

Even the stab wounds were different. No two bodies had been cut or stabbed the same; even the knife used was different. Sure there were a couple that had the same type of knife, but again it only counted for a small percentage.

However, there were a few similarities that at least indicated there was one person behind the murders. The main clue was the drop of blood near the bodies. DNA analysis had determined that the blood droplet did not belong to the victims and even better, each droplet was a match to the others. At the very least one person could be linked to each murder.

Yet, Bruce hadn't been able to deduce why that drop was there in the first place. Most of the murders involved ambushes, so the victims had little chance of resisting, much less drawing blood from the killer.

One other similarity wasn't readily apparent, but the longer the dark-haired man had studied the crime scene photos, the more he had begun to notice it. Each victim had been purposefully moved, posed as if they were doing normal, daily tasks. Kathleen Turner had been posed to appear sleeping, a piece of cardboard draped over her body like a blanket. One man had been leaned against a wall, his legs extending out in front of him and crossed at the ankles, his hands in his lap with a dirty magazine on top of them. A woman had been found lying on her stomach with a sponge in one hand and a brush in another as she looked to be cleaning the ground.

Other than that, there wasn't a lot to go on, which was becoming increasingly frustrating. Although Gordon was reluctant to admit it, there was a serial killer on the loose.

Which meant it was only a matter of time before another person was discovered in a macabre pose. Bruce frowned. Though it wasn't often he had hunted down a serial killer, there was usually some M.O. to go off of, some trophy collected by the killer as a keepsake. Yet, there wasn't a piece of jewelry missing, a tuft of hair clipped off, or some part of the body removed.

In fact, aside from the poses and the blood drop, if there was a pattern, it wasn't one Bruce was seeing. What wasn't he seeing? He had to be missing something, he just had to be.

The dark-haired man wanted to run another program, some sort of scan that would pick up on what he was missing. With nine bodies, there had to be more commonality between them, such as how they caught the killer's eye. It wasn't happenstance, or random, they had been specifically picked. They weren't homeless and any issues with their immediate families were miniscule at best. Someone would miss these people.

A sigh escaped Bruce's lips. He had been at this for hours at least. In fact, he had lost track of time completely. With as little headway as he had made, he just knew he needed to step away and do something else; whatever it was, as long as it wasn't the case. Leaning back in his chair, he languishly raised an arm up, glancing down at the watch around his wrist.

It took a moment before the young man's brain realized just what time it was. "Damn," he muttered before he reluctantly pushed himself out of his chair. It was almost time for the Dent Fundraiser and at this time, he would surely be late. Not that that was a problem considering his playboy reputation, but his presence was necessary. Glancing up to the large computer screen, he scanned the many open windows for something, anything, one last moment of inspiration and found none.

Damn it, what was the link?! Bruce bared his teeth in frustration. All of these people, so different from one another. It wasn't like they were homeless, people that society had casted away, or even the ever-popular prostitute. All of them had families, people that would miss them.

 _Hmm,_ perhaps that was a possible link.

"Computer: find immediately for all victims. Find commonalities," Bruce ordered. Immediately the computer went to work, running its desired program. It would take a little time, but it was something that could be reviewed once he got back.

Suddenly a new window popped up. _Then again…_

Leaning forward, Bruce read the results, feeling his irritation growing. Only six were married, five of which had children. The children ranged from one to...huh, twelve. Damn, another dead end.

This was going to have to wait. Standing up, the dark-haired man maneuvered around his chair, striding towards the stairs. He'd worry about this later. Right now he needed to get ready.

* * *

Clicking sounds filled the air as the buckles were fastened. The straps were tightened, making sure the boot would not be leaving her foot.

With a violent shake of her head, Dinah flung her long blonde hair to drape over her other shoulder as she turned her attention to her other boot. Somewhere behind her, she could hear Katana finishing putting on the finishing touches to her outfit. Tonight was shaping up to be an important night for them.

Though it was just the two of them, Dinah was fully expecting their third member to show up soon. She should have gotten off of work by now and was making her way here. Picking up her gloves, the blonde began slipping them on over her hands, flexing her fingers repeatedly to make sure they fit correctly.

Once she was satisfied, Dinah turned to look to Katana, who was finishing buckling her belt, reaching to her prized sword and sheath, attaching them to the belt soon after. "She late," the Asian woman remarked, not bothering to look in her direction.

"She'll be here," Dinah reassured, glancing to a nearby chair. Her leather jacket hung from the back of it, right where she had placed it. Stepping to it, her hand had just wrapped underneath the collar when a shrill squeal rang out. Due to the walls, it dampened it, but she had come to recognize that sound. Shooting a look to her friend, she added, "See?"

Hefting up the jacket, the blonde swung it behind her and slipped her arms through the sleeves. As it settled over her back and shoulders, the young woman made adjustments to make it more comfortable. By the time she was finished, a door swung open, revealing a brunette in a pants suit.

Looking to her, Dinah couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the sight of her. "You look tired, Kate."

Kate Spencer shrugged her shoulders as she moved into the room, closing the door behind her. She didn't waste any time pulling off her suit jacket, busying herself with undressing. "It was a long day at the office," she said drolly.

That office meaning the District Attorney's. Kate was a recent transplant to Gotham from the D.C. area. She had been some hot shot federal prosecutor who had decided there was more action for her in Gotham. That's what the public knew her as.

Incidentally, since her move, a new vigilante had begun roaming the streets calling herself the Manhunter. It had taken a few months, but eventually the remaining Birds of Prey had run into her, even did a case together, which ended up with Dinah and Katana extending an invitation to join them. Surprisingly, Manhunter accepted.

That had proved to be a bigger boon than any of them had expected. Because of her connection to the DA's office, the Birds now had intel on every Mob investigation, IA cases, and other legal proceedings. In fact, it had given them a more focused mission, that of obtaining evidence that could be used to throw bad guys away for a very long time.

Standing in her chivies, Kate opened a locker door and pulled out a full length, red bodysuit, and began slipping into it. "So, got the scoop on that Thorne operation?" Dinah asked.

"Yeah, I got it," the brunette answered as she began pulling the sleeves of the bodysuit on over her arms. "The front is an accounting firm. Thorne's been laundering his money through it, though how exactly is still unknown. My guess is he's adding it as part of the books for the firm. The GCPD's been doing a stakeout of the place for the last week, looking for anything that would give them a reason for a warrant."

"So it sounds like we need to pay this place a visit," the blonde woman responded.

Pulling on metallic gauntlets onto her hands and forearms, Kate nodded. "That would be my plan too."

"What does the DA have on this place?"

"Just suspicions mostly. You know how Dent is towards Thorne; anything that man is into, Dent thinks is involved in shady, or flat out illegal, business. He's usually not wrong."

"What sort of security should we be expecting?"

"Again, this is Thorne."

"So more than an actual accounting firm should have."

Metal shoulder and knee pads were just finished being placed onto Kate's body, followed by a red mask that covered the upper part of her face. Her brown hair had already been pulled into a ponytail, so that it wasn't in the way. There might have been one or two more things Manhunter needed to do to have her costume complete and ready for combat, but those were things that could be handled on the road.

"Alright then, ladies," Black Canary said, placing her own mask on. "It's time to get to work."

* * *

For a fundraiser, the crowd left something to be desired.

Walking through the open doors, Bruce scanned the room, holding back the grimace he felt. Dent wasn't going to like this turnout.

A server walked by, a silver tray with glasses of champagne. Bruce was quick to snag one of the glasses, bring it up to his lips for a sip. A faint sweet taste was masked by the overbearing aftertaste of alcohol. It wasn't his preferred drink and he'd be limiting how much he imbibed, but for now it would be a prop until he found something that leaned towards his own tastes.

Strolling through the sparse crowd, the billionaire surveyed the people, noting the tuxedos and elegant dresses. He stopped for a moment when he noticed Mayor Grange chatting with a couple of businessmen; the corner of his mouth twitched up at the sight. It seemed there were others here trying to drum up interest for their respective campaigns. Bringing his glass back up, Bruce hid the small smile as he took another sip.

Now then, where was the host?

Continuing his stroll, Bruce began to circle the room, taking in the sights. There was a DJ in the corner, playing classical music through speakers. Apparently getting an actual quartet was out of the budget.

The dark-haired man shook his head. It must have been longer than he thought since his last soiree. The distinct lack of decor, the minimal personnel, the thin crowd he could look through to see the other side of the room without having to look over a sea of heads—this was so much less impressive than the parties, balls, and galas he had attended in the past. Damn, he sounded like the rich snob he pretended to be. _Alright, Bruce, time to stop critiquing and do what you came here to do._

As it turned out, he didn't need to look any further. Harvey Dent found him.

"Bruce Wayne," the DA greeted from the right, causing Bruce to turn his head to look at him. Everything about him looked strained from his smile, to the way he held his body, to the way his hair was shellacked to his head with gel. "So glad you could make it."

Bruce held his hand out, taking the offered one from Dent and gave it a firm shake. "Anything I can do to help support our favorite DA," he returned.

"That's reassuring." Dent moved to stand next to the billionaire, looking out at the crowd in front of them. "I know what you're thinking, but don't worry, more people should be showing up. The party is just starting up slow."

"Oh, I wouldn't think so." The dark-haired man raised his arm up, making it quite obvious he was looking at the Rolex on his wrist. "I'm habitually late to anything but work and this shindig of yours isn't any different. There might be a few stranglers on the way, but this is about all the turnout you're going to get."

Dent slowly turned his head to stare at him, a disbelieving look on his face. "Well, that's one way to be nice," he retorted snidely. "I never took you for being crass and blunt."

"Me neither," Bruce admitted, taking yet another sip. "But it isn't too much of a stretch to know why."

"Mind cluing me in?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "A lot of donors are typically rich, right? Well, there were quite a few of those folk who wanted you dead, remember? The Talon Attacks, or whatever the press called them. After that fiasco, they all split town."

Dent returned to staring out into the room. His shoulders sagged them as he let out a sigh. "You know, now that you mention it, that does make sense. Why didn't I think about that?" He pressed a hand to his face. "This isn't going the way I hoped."

"If it makes you feel any better, you aren't going to be the only one disappointed." Bruce extended his glass-holding hand, indicated Mayor Grange. "She's a nice lady, but she becomes pretty transparent when desperate."

The DA laughed a short, explosive laugh. "That makes me feel somewhat better."

The billionaire smirked. "Perhaps I can make you feel even more secure. I intend on leaving a donation to your campaign; the only thing up for debate is how many zeroes are on the check."

That caused Dent to freeze. "That's...very generous of you, Bruce," he began. "I'm sure you're aware of the laws that dictate the amount you can donate."

"Which also include a dozen other ways I can get money to you," the dark-haired man replied.

Dent slowly returned his gaze to him. "Excuse me for being frank, but you're not as dumb as you pretend to be."

A sly smirk appeared on Bruce's face as he returned the other man's look. "Shush, keep that on the down low. How else do you think I keep Wayne Enterprises so competitive."

"Your secret's safe with me." Putting an arm around his back, Harvey began to direct them away from the small gathering. "And to prove it, let me tell you a little secret of mine…"

* * *

One thing Bruce hadn't expected to do was enjoy himself, especially at a fundraiser of all places.

At some point, the billionaire and the district attorney had snagged themselves a bottle of some kind of alcoholic beverage, Bruce couldn't remember at this point though that wasn't because of intoxication, and they had sequestered themselves off on a balcony. The bottle was at their feet, half empty while two champagne glasses they had nabbed were forgotten as the two men traded "war stories."

"You know how they say the man who defends themselves in court has a fool for a client? Other day, some yahoo thinks they know the law better than I do shows up and, Bruce, I'm telling you, it was a massacre. Guy had no idea about how to do this. I think he got a worse sentence than he would have if had hired an attorney," Harvey told him, chuckling.

"That's why when the law comes up, I have my dream team take care of it for me. Who was this guy?" Bruce quipped back.

"That's the funny thing. I remember him screaming about his constitutional rights but I can't for the life of me remember his name!" Harvey cracked. "It's one of those things you had to be there for. To see to believe and all that."

"What were the charges?"

"Tax evasion"

Bruce couldn't help it, he let out a laugh and shook his head.

"You'd think people would have figured it out. We can't get you for murder or embezzlement, but by God we will get you on tax evasion. It's like that should be a rule. And none of them get that!"

"Let me guess, he's one of those types who believe he shouldn't pay any taxes?" Bruce asked, slightly curious.

"Beats me," Harvey shrugged. "Who doesn't wish they didn't pay taxes? I bet you're one of them, but you pay anyway because who the hell wants to pay a lawyer to get them out of trouble? You probably have a few yachts you're eyeing and it would be a bitch to have to shell out that cash because of legal shit."

"Well, I do happen to be eyeing one," Bruce admitted before he sent a knowing grin to Harvey.

"There you are! I've been looking for you!"

The two men paused then looked over their shoulders at the young woman who had come up from behind them, dressed quite lovely in a black and white themed strapless dress. There was a look of amusement on her face as she eyed the two of them, and Bruce had to wonder how he hadn't heard her approach. Under the bottom of her dress, he could see high heels peeking out.

Either he was getting rusty or he had been way too absorbed in his conversation with Harvey.

"Ah, Bruce, allow me to introduce you to my wife," Harvey said as left eh billionaire's side. Taking his side beside the woman, he placed his arm around her bare shoulders and continued, "This is Gilda, the loveliest woman here. Gilda, this is Bruce Wayne."

"My, my, how long have you been hiding her?" Bruce said, as he held out his hand. Gilda, surprisingly, took his and gave it a shake, completely unlike the other women who would wait for him to press his lips on the backs of the theirs.

"These events aren't typically my thing, Mr. Wayne," Gilda answered for herself. "However, I figured I'd make an exception tonight."

"Call me Bruce," he replied. "Everybody else does."

The dark-haired woman gave him a polite smile. "I was wondering where Harvey had wandered off to. He hasn't been boring you, has he?"

"I'm not that boring, Gilda," Harvey joked. "Bruce and I were trading some stories, nothing too bad."

"I came to tell you that you need to see to your other guests. Some of them were wonder where you were too," Gilda told him.

"That right? I guess we'll have to continue another time, eh Bruce?" The district attorney turned his eye back on him.

"Oh definitely. I enjoyed myself," the billionaire found himself saying. He was more surprised that the words were coming out of his mouth and that he meant them.

"Say, how good are you at golf?" Harvey asked. "I can't say much about myself, but Gilda has some talent. Want to see how well you do?"

"Harvey!" Gilda admonished, but it was clear that she wasn't taking any offense.

"When you put it like that, there's no way I can turn it down," Bruce answered. "Time and place and I'll meet you both there..." He had been sharing a smirk with the other man before someone mingling in the party behind the couple caught his eye and subsequently caused his whole world to go still.

He hadn't thought it possible. There was no way someone was dumb enough to return to the scene of their very own crime, even if it was a couple years later. He had to have heard of his fellow conspirators being hunted down, the chief hunter being the billionaire himself. Yet, here he was, acting as if he had been here the entire time.

His name was Andrew Yates. He was middle-aged, still had a head full of hair, though his body was as rotund as ever. He had a drink in one hand, a woman on the other, and a smile on his face as he made small talk with one of the other guests.

He was also a member of the Court of Owls.

It had only been the last two or three Court members he had captured, but they had implicated Yates as one of their members. Yates had done well to go underground, all but vanishing from public life. Considering the other names he had been given, Bruce had set Yates aside for the more visible prey. Now though, that had changed. He was back in Gotham, right where he could be plucked up and shown into a jail cell at the precinct. Either he believed he could hide in plain sight, or the dust up from the Talon Attacks had finally quieted down enough for his return.

Bruce wanted to show him just how misguided of a thought that was.

"Excuse me, Harvey, I see someone I just have to meet," Bruce said as he began moving away from Dent. "You send me those details and I'll be ready with my clubs."

"Yes, of course. Have a good time, Bruce," the DA called after him. That was all the dark-haired man heard anyways. Right now, he had to collect some info on Yates and find out just where he was staying. Even if he thought he could return to Gotham, surely he wasn't using his old residences, or even a former Court safe house.

Well, he'd be finding out pretty soon.

"Andrew!" he exclaimed as he closed in on the man, extending both of his arms out as champagne sloughed out of his glass, spilling onto his fingers. "I can't believe it! You're here! It's been a dog's age!"

* * *

Author's Note: Perhaps the shortest chapter in the whole series so far. So out of characters for ShadowMajin and I, I know. Fortunately, the rest of the chapters are anything but short. So bear with this chapter for now. Things are about to get (spoiler alert) longer, much longer.


	6. Meet the Patriarch

Meet the Patriarch

"I'm heading to the lab early. I'll see you there."

With those words, Kirk left his home, Francine still in the middle of her early morning routine. This was not something out of the ordinary; the male scientist did this every so often, especially when they were on the cusp of a breakthrough.

Last night had been exciting, the visit from Bruce Wayne notwithstanding. One of their newer formulas was showing a lot of promise. All theoretical and digital simulations were being cleared, some with phenomenal success rates. It had been at Francine's insistences that he call it quits and come home for a good night's rest.

It didn't stop him from getting his hopes up, but a break from their research would allow them fresh eyes in the morning, to pick up on anything that they might have missed due to their excitement.

Even though he called it home, the married pair of researchers lived in an apartment complex, one of the nicer ones in the city. It may not be a house, but from where they were in their lives, children had yet to become a priority.

At least for now.

Kirk would feel a lot better about having some once his problem of hearing loss was solved. Just this morning he had had a bit of a panic attack when he realized that he almost couldn't hear the spray of water from the shower head. The deterioration of his hearing was getting worse.

Combined with his anticipation for what they'd accomplish today, he had all the motivation that morning to be out the door and going down the elevator in record time. He was in such a rush, in fact, that he was still adjusting his hearing aids to make sure they weren't about to fall out.

Hopefully he'd be able to hail a taxi as soon as he left the building. It was what he usually did when he left early. That way, Francine still had the car and could drive herself.

"Dr. Langstrom."

Kirk blinked his eyes and stopped mid step. He had just left the entrance to the complex when someone called out his name. Or his last name at least. He looked to his left and found a large man in a suit and tie, black sunglasses over his eyes. The researcher had a feeling that despite the shades, this man was looking straight at him.

"Your transportation is here for you, doctor," the man stated, gesturing with his head towards a limousine that had been parked straight ahead of him. How had he missed...oh.

The suited man stepped towards the limo and opened the passenger door, a sign that he had better be getting in. Swallowing, Kirk followed the nonverbal instructions and got in. The briefcase he held in his hand was half forgotten, though unconsciously he placed it in his lap, like it was some kind of shield.

Kirk would be needing one. He was not alone in this car.

As the door was shut behind him, Kirk had his eyes trained on the large man that sat to his left. There was enough space for a third person to sit between the two of them, but the anxious man couldn't help but feel that wasn't enough space.

Stern, brown eyes glanced at him, barely acknowledging the younger man's presence. In the right light, Kirk would swear those brown eyes were almost red, red as the blood of those that had sought to oppose this man only to fall like so many others. In an instant those eyes were back on the documents held in a large hand that looked like they could crush the scientist's skull with ease.

Pale brown hair that was almost blond in its color was combed back severely, revealing a large patch of smooth skin that was interrupted with deep wrinkles in the forehead region. Stone like facial features barely moved as the man finally began to speak.

"The only virtue you have is your willingness to sacrifice sleep for your work."

That in itself told the younger man nothing. He remained silent, almost shrinking in himself . What could a person like him possibly say to a man like Abraham Langstorm?

"You continue to be an embarrassment. Why do you insist on working with Wayne Enterprises. You belong at Patriarch. You belong with your own kind. Not with the aging relic of a changing city that is Wayne Enterprises," his father continued.

There was a sudden desire to reply back, to defend the company that was allowing him to do his research, to find his cure. But like many a time, Kirk said nothing. He had learned a long time ago that with Abraham, it was better to not say anything and wait until the businessman was finished.

"How long have you been working on the pipe dream of yours?" the financial titan asked, rhetorically, of course. "Trying to fix that flaw of yours? Something that is irreversible as hearing loss?"

"We've made progress at that aging relic, Father." Kirk winced as soon as those words slipped out of his mouth. He couldn't help it; it was one thing to attack Wayne, but another to attack his work.

"I know."

Two little innocent words but they were more than enough to freeze him up. The older man hadn't so much as looked at him this whole time but he didn't need to. His words had always been more damaging than any look he could give. This still held true even now. So when he said those words, they created both confusion and fear within Kirk.

"What do you—"

"Did you really think I wouldn't find a way to keep an eye on you, even when you became employed by the competition? If you haven't learned what I am capable of by now, Robert, I may need to _remind_ you. And don't think I wouldn't."

His father was the only one to call him by his first name anymore. His full name was Robert Kirkland Langstrom, but he preferred being called Kirk. Always had. The only person that refused to do so was of course the man who named him.

And no, he didn't need to be reminded of what this man was capable of.

Still, the thoughts of how his father knew about what he was doing ran through his head.

"This does not have to be unpleasant, Robert. I'm speaking with you for a reason. I want you to come work for me at Patriarch. I'm willing to furnish you with the workspace and resources you need to finish your project, and I am offering to pay you double what Wayne is I'll even let you bring your wife with you and pay her double too."

Now the scientist was staring at his businessman father, his grip on his briefcase loosening slightly.

"Why?" he spoke, his confusion stronger than his fear.

And now his father looked up from his papers to look him dead in the eye. It was unnerving, that gaze of his, and it pinned him where he sat.

"Because a product of the Langstroms should remain with the Langstroms. Whatever cure for deafness you invent, all financial benefits should be received by us. Our family should be the one to profit from our own endeavors."

There it was. Though, really, what his father meant to say was that the only one that would benefit from Kirk's work would be Abraham. It was no secret to anyone that Abraham considered him a disappointment to the Langstrom name. He wasn't a smart, savvy businessman. He wasn't a particularly good athlete. If it didn't involve his work, he was much too quiet for any social setting.

He was pretty much the opposite of Abraham Langstrom. Everything that he _wasn't_. And that pissed his father off more than anything, especially since what he wanted was a carbon copy of himself.

Kirk just wasn't that carbon copy. He could never be. And it was unforgivable in the eyes of his father. He understood perfectly what his father's ulterior motives were.

Before he could give an answer, Abraham stated, "I'll want your answer by the end of the week and no later. I hope you appreciate the lengths to which I am willing to go for you."

While he made it sound like he was putting a lot of effort into it, again Kirk knew better. However, this did reveal there was some desperation behind this ploy, meaning he knew more about this project than he was letting on. The time limit was just a means to maintain a semblance of control, nothing more.

To know enough about the deafness cure and be desperate enough to go as far as his father was going to try to bribe him to move to Patriarch, Abraham had to have some kind of feed or leak that gave him that information. Had someone hacked the servers at Wayne Pharmaceuticals...or was a member of his team bought off and funneling that information to him?

That second one sounded more like his father.

Suddenly, Kirk became aware of the limo slowing down. He hadn't realized that they had been moving this whole time. Such was the distraction that was the ruthless businessman beside him. Oh, and there was his lab. It was like he was being dropped off by a concerned parent.

"Let it not be said that Langstroms are not punctual," Abraham remarked. "This is your stop. Do not keep me waiting, Robert. My offer ends at the end of the week."

Swallowing again, the researcher nodded and opened the door to the limo, not waiting for the help to do it for him. He wanted nothing more than to get as far away from that man as quickly as possible.

Any thoughts about any impending breakthroughs they may have today were the furthest thing from his mind as he robotically made his way to the front entrance. The turmoil he had experienced during this unplanned ride remained with him until he reached his lab and would remain even after Francine arrived.

It would continue to stay at the back of his mind even as he lost himself in his work.

* * *

The stillness of the air was broken as two legs kicked out, one large, the other thin. Capes ruffled behind the two figures as they held their extended legs out, before slowly bring them down. Like mirror images, their legs came down, moving at the same pace, touching down on the ground at the same time.

Instantly, their left arms shot out, fingers drawn back, palms prominent. At the same time their right arms were drawn back, balled into fists. Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce eyed Cassandra, noting how her form was identical to his. It wasn't too surprising considering he had taught her this kata.

What was impressive was that he had taught this to her the night before.

Stepping forward, they drew their left arms back, their rights darting out, fingers pressed together as they cut through the air like knives. Again their capes ruffled behind them. They were in their respective armors, their masks cast aside back at the super computer. They were unneeded since they were in the dojo. There was a purpose for this.

Though she was hard to read, there were small instances, brief moments that gave away her thoughts. His purpose for keeping her mask off was to see these small tells. Right now her face was relaxed, focused on their kata; that was nothing new.

Her next move would reveal much more.

Their right arms returned to their side as they took another step forward, their lefts punching out again. Their hands were in fists, much to the dark-haired man's relief.

The first time they had run this kata, Cassandra had fallen back into her previous training. Instead of a fist, her fingers had been extended out like talons, reaching for a kill strike. He recognized the blow, one she had used on him during their first encounter. She had meant to rip his larynx out.

This was their fifth run-through since then, the first of the night. Bruce hadn't been sure if she had adjusted her technique to accommodate his demands. That still very well may be the case, but the fact she had gone for the punch rather than the fatal strike was hopefully promising.

A rapid succession of backstepping follow then, their arms a flurry of movement as they blocked. High, high, sweeping low, then they both leapt into the air spinning in midair as they lashed out with a leg, performing a spinning kick. Landing again, they assumed a defensive stance, arms extended out in front of them, hands relaxed and at the ready.

Bruce wanted to say, "Again," but there wasn't any real point. Right now this was just light stretching for the both of them, nothing more. So instead of repeating the kata, he turned on his heels to face the girl, Cassandra doing the same. One hand made a fist and moved in front of them, pressing into the palm of the other. They bent forward, bowing, indicating the end of their session.

It was strange. When he had started this mission, this journey, never had Bruce thought he would be inducting someone into it. It was one thing when they were support, but this was taking them out into the night, weathering the endless wave of danger and death. Should he be doing this? Did he have that right? True, there was nothing for this girl outside of this one outlet, but that didn't mean he should be making this decision lightly. There...there had to be another way.

The problem was that he couldn't think of one.

Damn, he needed some guidance here.

Closing his eyes, Bruce straightened out his posture, slowly releasing the air from his lungs through his nose. This was probably a mistake, most likely a mistake, but it was the only option. Opening his eyes, the dark-haired man stared into Cassandra's unwavering ones. Maybe he was seeing an answer that wasn't there, or maybe it was just what he wanted to see, but Bruce thought he saw determination from this young girl to see this through.

Steeling his resolve, Bruce finally gave his judgement. "It's time."

This time, he couldn't mistake the excitement that flashed over Cassandra's face. She held her ground though, instead of scampering off to retrieve her mask. Restraint, this was good. It had to be good.

Turning around, Bruce marched towards the computer, Cassandra following him at his pace. Reaching the computer, he picked up his mask, the girl doing the same a moment later. Instead of placing the mask on though, the dark-clad man hit a couple keystrokes, the monitor lighting up. A grid of Gotham appeared, followed a second later by a dotted line that wound its way through the city.

"This is our route," he spoke, staring at the screen. X's began appearing at random points on the dotted line. "We need to be at these points at the top of the hour—five minute deviation maximum."

Bruce turned his head to look at Cassandra, who was looking up at the monitor, studying it intently. She then looked to him, giving him a sharp nod her understanding. Finally he moved to place his mask on, the girl doing the same. His sight was dull for a few seconds as he tapped a few buttons on his gauntlet, the lens lighting up once they were active. The dank colors of the cave brighten in response.

Cassandra, on the other hand, only had her mask on. She hadn't even attempted to activate her lens. But then, he hadn't put that circuitry into her own armor. Either that was a lapse on his part, or on purpose, but tonight would determine whether that upgrade was necessary or not. A couple more keystrokes and her lens were activated and operational.

"Let's get to work."

* * *

It was easy to tell that this partnership was not going to work out and it was plain to see why.

Bullock was a cat person and Cort a dog person. Cats and dogs did not like each other. Enough said.

Not for the last time, Bullock wondered why Gordon had paired the two of them together, and for the recently announced task force looking into Gotham's latest serial killer. Something as important as that, you'd want the guys heading it to be able to work together without wanting to go out back and beat the shit out of one another.

Yet, somehow, they were working together and getting shit done. It was too weird for the lieutenant.

Coordination was all on Cort. Bullock, you just had to tell him what he needed to do and where to go, and he was on that thing like a cat with a canary. He would have preferred to say dog on a bone but he was keeping with that earlier comparison—and that was just too stupid to keep up, now that he thought about it. Too much effort too. Whatever.

Cat shit aside, what he and Cort were supposed to be doing was serious. He had been in this business long enough to dread the words "serial killer." Throw your murderers, your rapists, your thieves, your muggers, your mobsters, gang members, freaks, clowns, and whatever sick and twisted things you could come up with. He could take all of them and wash it all down with a bottle of Jack's. A serial killer, on the other hand, that made him feel dirty, and not in a good way.

Unlike all those other guys, a serial killer had a way to make you look not only at yourself and what you were, but your very soul. So many lines were blurred, so many things seen that could not be unseen. It tested your mettle like nothing else.

So even though he got along with Cort like cats and dogs, he was going to _try_ and put aside their differences and work to catch the son of a bitch killing people left and right on their streets. Taking one look over at Cort's very neat and clean desk, it was a reminder that this was easier said than done.

For some reason or another, Cort always rubbed him the wrong way.

Speaking of which, where was the guy—oh wait there he was. And look, he was walking and reading from a file. How multi-tasking of him. Make everyone look bad why don't you.

"Cort, what's new?" he called out from his seat, strategically placed behind a desk covered in so much shit, it might as well be a wall on the border, or where he always sat.

The by-the-books prick glanced up at him and grimaced. Wonder what that was for. "Nothing new from forensics. I have as many men as I can spare interviewing the victim's families, all the usual stuff, Bullock."

Aw, he was putting aside his differences too. Maybe that was the only good thing about serial killers; they brought people together.

"Got all the intel I could get on the latest vic. Name's Kathleen Turner, next of kin lives in Gotham. Jack and Janet Drake. She was visiting them, and it looks like she decided to take in some of the sights. Found some receipts on her, managed to track her down to a few stores that had video surveillance, all that stuff. I figure if we can nail down the exact time of death, we can maybe catch our perp on camera walking away from the crime scene. So right now I'm tracing every single step she made since she first set foot here." There, that summed up what he had been up to. He did leave off a few details though, like meeting up with the Drakes. That kinda slipped his mind, actually.

"That's not bad," Cort said as he walked passed the lieutenant and to his own cleaner desk.

"I also notified the Drakes. I'm doing some background checks on them to make sure there ain't anything fishy about them," Bullock continued.

"Is that really necessary?" Even though he had been mentioning about putting aside differences, Bullock didn't like that tone of voice.

"We have to check everything, even the victims. Especially the victims." Bullock left nothing up to interpretation. He even spun around in his seat to stare down the other man.

"And serial killers are known to go after perfect strangers," Cort retorted. "Investigating the victims is a waste of time."

"That so? Well I got it on good authority that serial killers do kill their own family members sometimes. Sometimes they're the first ones they go after, others they're like number five or ten or something," he retorted.

"And what's the name of your authority?" the mustached piece of shit asked, though he sounded very mocking.

"That would be the former Lieutenant Essen, now Lieutenant Gordon. You know, the Com'mish's wife. And let me tell you, she knows her shit. You got a problem, take it up with her. You might get educated," the overweight lieutenant sneered back.

"You're really going to take her side, Bullock? I thought you weren't that low," Cort scoffed.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Bullock growled.

Yeah, what did that mean? Despite all appearances, Bullock had a healthy respect for one of the few officers in this place willing to call him out on his bullshit. There was a reason why the commissioner's wife was moving through the ranks and it wasn't because of who her husband was, let him tell you.

"She supports that freak who's trying to do our jobs. You can't tell me you haven't noticed that," Cort stated. "Anybody who supports the Bat has no place on the force, Bullock. It makes me sick to think I have to listen to someone like that and take orders from them. I don't care that she's a woman."

Okay, Bullock understood that. He wasn't blind or deaf; he could tell that even though Gordon, the lieutenant, not the commissioner, didn't say it out loud or flat out, she was in the Bat-freak's corner. She tended to look the other way whenever that vigilante was involved, and took full advantage of whatever crook the freak managed to nail.

She was definitely one of those means justify the ends type.

And you know what, Bullock was having trouble defending her right now since he was on the side of catching and locking up the Bat along with all those other freaks that had been cropping up.

"Things are going to be changing here," Cort told him. "One way or another. Either you're on the wrong side, the one that likes that lawbreaker, or you're on the right side. The side that's going to win and lock the Batman up in Blackgate where he belongs. There's a lot of stuff I don't like about you Bullock, but the one thing I do is that you have your priorities straight. You know as well as I do that the Batman has to be taken down. It's an insult that he's still running around, making us all look like a joke."

Goddamn it, Bullock was liking what he was hearing. Why did it all have to come from Cort of all people? There was something so wrong about that.

"When the time comes, you're going to have to make a choice. Pick the side you know is right or go down in flames with all those other traitors who like the fact that a vigilante is doing their jobs," Cort continued. "That includes the commissioner. Don't think I haven't noticed how he's sitting on his hands about this. He's willing to make a task force for a serial killer, but not one for catching that freak? He won't last much longer, mark my words. Especially with the election going on. The mayor might be on his side now, but if Grange gets the boot, and she will, our next mayor might not want Gordon around any longer."

Oh yeah, the election, the one thing Bullock wasn't paying attention to. On purpose.

From the sounds of things, Cort might know something. Or he could just be one of those guys who wants to boot out all the bums and put in the guys he wants in. A guy with a lot of hopes and dreams that things will be better but only if the right people were elected. A law and order idealist if he ever heard one.

Christ, Cort was such a tool and too stupid to realize it.

"If and when that time comes, I'll make my decision then, and not a moment before," Bullock stated. "Til then, I'm going to try and catch a sicko that I know is going to kill again. One scumbag at a time, Cort."

"That time might come sooner than you think," Cort warned.

And like with most warnings, Bullock ignored it.

* * *

The liquid bubbled in the glass jar, the flames from the Bunsen burner keeping the temperature steady. The color of the substance was a dark green, highly unusual to be seen in the lab. Yet, this was the fruits of their labors this day, the latest batch of the cure for deafness.

Kirk could see his reflection in the glass, but he only had eyes for the formula held within. The excitement from yesterday had not diminished in the lab. Even his father's unexpected appearance had not held him back. They had been on the right track, and so much progress had been made that it had been agreed to try and make their most recently developed serum a reality.

And here it was. The various chemicals and ingredients were melding together and if their calculations and digital simulations were correct, they may as well declare to the world their accomplishment. But they were far from finished. No, now came the next stage of their research.

The testing.

The lab mice were being brought out and readied for their injections. Through them would they learn for sure if they had indeed been successful. It didn't stop the scientist from wanting to consume the liquid himself. To be the lab rat experimented on so that he could finally be free from his damnable hearing aids.

There was protocol, and safety concerns, that had to be addressed first. That meant that waiting was what he would be doing now. Waiting meant that he had nothing to distract him now. Nothing to stop him from recalling what his father had last said to him.

Arms wrapped themselves over his shoulders and around his neck. "It's exciting, isn't it?" the voice of Francine asked. "Did you ever think that this day would come? Where the two of us would stand in front of something that will change our world for the better? To give sound to those who can't hear? To save those that are losing theirs? We're almost there, Kirk. We're almost there."

"I hope we used the right bat," he put in, allowing Francine to distract him from his thoughts. He needed this, to be reminded of why he was here. To be in a place where his father couldn't reach him.

As far as he knew. It had occurred to him that maybe a member of his research staff had been bought off. But who would it be? All around he spotted each and every individual, all of them hard at work on one task or another. None were showing any signs of betrayal, all as dedicated as he was to their breakthrough.

Was it Arthur? Lucy? Eduardo? Emile? Who? Who had his father reached?

"This one has been the most stable," Francine broke into his thoughts once more. "Once the binding process is complete, we can begin the first tests. I feel like my heart's about to burst out of my chest from excitement. Yours?"

His lips curled upwards. "I'm on the verge of finding religion, Francine. If it would help, I'd sell my firstborn child to the devil. Instead, I'll settle for whatever happens."

"Your lack of faith continues to disturb me," Francine laughed at him. "We've worked so hard for so long. Even if it doesn't reach expected parameters, I believe that it is leading us in the right direction. Whether or not we succeed today, I think this calls for a special occasion."

"What do you have in mind?" he asked, turning around enough so that he could look her in the eye.

"I think something we haven't had in awhile. Something we can both agree tastes better with age. Something that has...onions," Francine teased.

There was only one thing she could mean by that. "I know you don't like it. You don't have to make it," he protested. "We can do the wine but—"

"Ssh," she hushed him. At least, Kirk thought she hushed him. Maybe he needed to adjust his hearing aid. "I know how much this means to you, and I know that you've been distracted today. You don't have to tell me now, but I think you've earned a special treat. I'll wait until we've treated our lab rats then take off. I'll leave the car so that you can finish up here."

"What would I do without you?" Kirk asked.

"That's an answer we're both better off not knowing." Francine gave him a peck on his cheek and pulled away. Immediately, Kirk returned his gaze to the bubbling liquid once more, his reflection on the glass standing out.

So much good was happening for him today. A great breakthrough, upcoming tests, and Francine was going to make him his favorite dish tonight. All in all, what more could a person ask for?

 _I'll want your answer by the end of the week and no later. I hope you appreciate the lengths to which I am willing to go for you._

Of course. Only his father would be able to darken his mood, even at a time like this. That settled it. He needed to talk with someone about this. Someone who wouldn't talk about it. Someone who wouldn't send word back to his father about anything he said. More importantly, it needed to be someone who wouldn't tell Francine about it.

It had to be someone he could trust not to tell a living soul.

At the very least he knew who that was. It seemed like he would be making a side trip before heading home tonight.

Kirk told himself that this needed to be done. So that he could celebrate with his wife, the one person who had supported him since the beginning. Who didn't care about his premature hearing loss. Who wasn't skeptical of his work. Who didn't care where he came from and loved him, truly loved him for who he was.

It was almost a shame that he would have to delay Francine's version of liver and onions a little longer.


	7. We All Have Problems

We All Have Problems

The air was still, allowing Batman to stand in the shadows, remaining unknown to the person he stared at. At the corner of the roof was Huntress, her purple costume allowing her to blend in somewhat with the shadows as well. She was crouched down, staring at something at street level, though the vigilante had a pretty good idea of what that was.

Silently he approached the woman, his footsteps not making a sound even on the gravel covering the roof. It wasn't long until he was standing behind her and to the left, still looking down on her and the dark-haired woman oblivious to his presence.

It was time to change that.

"Huntress."

With a start, Huntress whipped around, her cape billowing out behind her, a hand clutching at a pouch on her belt. Her eyes were wild, her alarm written on her face coupled with the determination to fend off whatever was behind her.

Batman was rather pleased to see that the purple-clad vigilante had reached for her belt, no doubt for one of her H-shaped shurikens. It was a marked improvement over her crossbow. Curiously, she had been limiting her use of the weapon, opting for less lethal tools. That had been a change he had been keeping an eye on; he wasn't sure what the exact reason was for this change, so an inquiry was necessary.

But that would have to wait for another night.

"Jesus Christ!" Huntress hissed at him as her shoulders slumped, the tension in her body fading away. "You almost gave me a heart attack!"

Batman remained silent, watching the woman calm herself down, her respirations rapid at the moment, but were slowing down. It was only a matter of time for Huntress to demand what he wanted from her.

"Mind telling me why you decided to scare the living hell out of me?"

"To talk," he replied succinctly.

"This better not be another heart-to-heart," she grumbled as she stood up. She was tall for a woman, but she still had to tilt her head up slightly to look him in the eye. With a huff, she crossed her arms over her chest, looking at him expectantly.

"You haven't been with the Birds in a while," the Dark Knight said. "Considering you helped found them, I found it curious as to your sudden departure."

"We had differences," Huntress responded, turning away from him, and incidentally returning her attention back to the street. "We all felt it was in the best interest of the Birds that I leave."

Batman took a step closer to the ledge and looked over it. Across the street from them was an alleyway, a group of five...no, six men were gathered. Considering their clothing and the equipment with them, it looked as if they were preparing for a robbery, one that Huntress was intending on stopping.

Well, it was going to be stopped, but not by her. She was needed with him at the moment.

"Mind telling me what those differences were?" he prodded.

"No, not really," she said flippantly. "I'm a little busy at the moment. Unless you'd like to help, you can go away now."

"I wouldn't worry about those men. They've been taken care of."

That caused Huntress to jerk her head around to stare at him. "What are you talking about?"

The dark-clad vigilante just nodded his head towards the men. "Just watch."

Almost if by providence, a dark shadow dropped from the sky and landed in the middle of the group of men. They all jumped, startled by the sudden appearance, which turned out to be their first and last mistake.

There was a flurry of movement as the dark figure leaped into the air and lashed out with a fist and a kick, two of the six men having their heads snapped back before they went flying off their feet and through the air. Another man's head snapped to a side as the heel of a boot collided with his cheek.

Dropping back down to the ground, the figure darted towards another man, who was pulling out a gun. He never got the chance to use it as the figure latched a hand onto his wrist and forced his arm to a side, and subsequently his gun. A shot rang out as a bullet was blasted into the pavement.

Pressing their other hand against the gunman's chest, the figure forced him up against the wall behind him. Jumping up, the figure coiled their legs up against their body before kicking them out, both of their feet slamming into a nearby man's face and knocking him off of his feet.

As the man crashed down onto the ground, Huntress stared in fascination. "Who the hell is that?" she asked softly.

"She goes by the name Batgirl," Batman responded, watching his protégé deal with the man she had forced against the wall. "As you can see, she's quite good."

"Good? _Good?!_ " Huntress whipped around to stare at him in disbelief. "She's a one woman wrecking ball is what she is! I blinked and she had four of those guys down. Where did you even find her?!"

She paused for a moment. "And since when did you start taking in help?" she pressed, her tone angered.

"She doesn't have many options. For her sake, I won't divulge any identifying information, but she was trained to be the best fighter ever. She's pretty close to that."

There was a silence as Huntress returned to watch the remainder of the fight, which was simply the last man collapsing to the ground. Batgirl was standing on one foot, her other leg extended out as straight as an arrow. There was no telling where she had landed the kick, only that it had been sufficient to defeat her foe. As far as Batman could tell, no lethal moves had been used, so he was pleased by the fight. Batgirl would be making her way to this rooftop any moment now.

"You know, I could've sworn there was a Batgirl with that Batclan group," Huntress finally said after a while. "Is that the same girl? I mean, her uniform is different and I don't see any red hair."

"This is someone different," he confirmed. That was all he was intending on saying about Batgirl, especially since they had gotten off the topic he truly wanted to discuss. "Now that they're dealt with, I'll ask again: why did you leave the Birds?"

There was a sagging of her shoulders before the purple-clad vigilante turned to fully face him again. "Since you want to know so badly, you remember that tension that was building up in the group? I know you know since you mentioned as much to Black Canary."

Receiving a nod from him, the dark-haired woman continued, "A lot of it stems from a disagreement we had. Canary and Katana thought I was a loose cannon and I was getting tired of them always watching over me in a fight. It was getting to the point where we weren't going into a fight to save people—the Talon Attacks, in case you were wondering. After that, I felt it was in the best interest of the Birds that I leave so that they could continue."

There was more to this story than she was telling him, that much Batman knew. He could get it out of her too if he wanted, but there was an underlying issue at hand. Out of all of the other vigilantes in the city, Huntress was the most experienced and could handle herself solo. Yet, she was definitely safer in a group. During their first encounters, the Birds of Prey had a solid chemistry together, able to cover up each other's' weaknesses and bring out their strengths.

Ultimately, trust with each other was the most important aspect of their teamwork. They had lost it at some point and let their distrust nearly tear the group apart. That needed to be rectified.

"What have you been able to accomplish on your own?" the dark-clad vigilante asked then.

"Stopped a few robberies, attempted rapes, and such," she answered. "Not as much as I did with the Birds, of course, but I'm just now getting back into the swing of being independent."

"Working your way back to the Mob?'

She snorted. "What Mob? There's, what, two more families left? Thorne is basically all that's left of organized crime and you know it."

That much was true and Thorne would be getting the Dark Knight's full attention soon. However, there was still some cleanup to be done and perhaps it would be best if Huntress came along for that ride. "Tonight is Batgirl's first night," he said. "It'd be appreciated if I had a second pair of eyes on her."

Huntress gave him an incredulous look. "And you want _me_ to watch her? Why, is she too much for you?"

"This is a trial run for her. She's come a long way since I found her, but certain instincts need to be repressed. I can't trust her with the protection of this city if I know she'll be inclined to fall back into deadly habits."

There was a flinch in the dark-haired woman's posture, but that was the only give that his words had affected her. Hmmm, that bore some reflection.

That was when Batgirl made her appearance, darting up over the edge of the roof and landing quietly behind the Dark Knight. The dark-clad man only tilted his head to a side so he could eye her out of the corner of his eye, the only indication of his acknowledgement of her. Huntress visibly focused on her before returning her attention to him. "So you want me to...help you?"

"Something like that."

Head turning from Batman to Batgirl and back, she seemed to be considering the offer before she made a decision. "I think I can do that."

* * *

The doorknob rattled incessantly, constantly jiggling in place until the lock slowly, but surely, flipped. The knob stopped for half a moment before it was twisted and the door swung open.

Poking her head in, Black Canary scanned the room for any signs of life—namely security—seeing none. Who would have thought entering this place would've been as easy as slipping in through the back door?

Slipping in, Katana and Manhunter followed her in, each one splitting up as they moved to various parts of the office room. There were desks at various places, office supplies such as computers, staplers, lamps, and so on on top of them. There were no walls, not even the makeshift ones that formed cubicles. There were, however, security cameras, but if Manhunter had done her stuff, they were currently not in operation.

Stopping at one of the desks, Black Canary began opening drawers and rifling through them. According to the new Bird, Anderson Accounting was a front for Thorne's money laundering, and a unique one at that. As an accounting firm, its books were open for the public to look, or at the very least the SEC. That meant if there was any illegal activity here, the books provided for inspection were not the true accounting logs. There was a second one here and the Birds of Prey were going to find it.

Finishing her search of the current desk, the blonde woman moved over to the next one and began doing the same thing. She ignored the pictures of family, the smiling faces of kids boring into her, silently asking what she was doing. Normally Black Canary wasn't bothered by that stuff, but right now she had an urgent feeling in her stomach that was demanding she find what she came here for and get out fast. For some reason it felt like she was stealing something rather than searching for evidence. That left a rather sour taste in her mouth.

Glancing up, the vigilante saw Manhunter was finishing up the desk she was currently working on, her ponytail swishing over a shoulder as she looked to a nearby wall. Katana was in another part of the room, and despite the red and yellow of her costume, she seemed to disappear from sight more so than Canary's black outfit. There was something odd about that realization.

Neither of them spoke. Even though the cameras weren't working, that didn't eliminate the possibility of roaming patrolmen, which they were certain were around. This was a Mob-owned business after all; no way would it be left unprotected.

Over and over, Black Canary checked the desks and received the same result as the first. Slowly she was starting to think that perhaps this second accounting book wasn't going to be something found in a desk drawer. She knew if she were fudging recorders, no way would she keep it in such an accessible place. So that left some place hidden.

So what could that be? Some place hidden in the roof? A safe behind one of the large pictures hanging on the wall? No, it couldn't be something that cliché.

"I think I found something," Manhunter suddenly spoke, her tone low. Turning to look at her comrade, Black Canary found the other woman facing a wall, a picture frame extended out and revealing a safe embedded in the wall. There was a dial on the left side of the metal face, with a handle and keyhole on the right. Ugh, so much for not being cliché.

Walking over to Manhunter, the blonde woman made to stand right in front of the safe. Safe cracking wasn't one of her talents—neither was it one of the others. Yet, she had a trick that helped them get into this place and it would help them now.

Pursing her lips, she began blowing a thin stream of air, her Canary Cry making a high-pitched, sharp sound, creating a vibrating airstream, one that she directed right into the keyhole. While most would think it strange that a safe would have a dial lock and a keyhole, it wasn't that unusual. In case there was an emergency and no one had the code for the dial lock, a key could be used as a last resort.

And with her focused Canary Cry, the blonde woman was currently shaking the inner mechanisms of the lock, making adjustments until there was an audible _click_ and the door cracked opened. Stopping the Cry, Black Canary grabbed the handle and pulled the door open, revealing a bunch of ledgers and folders within.

Immediately, Manhunter reached in and grabbed the small stack, pulling it out. Moving to a nearby desk, she set the stack down and opened the top ledger, flipping through the pages until she found something that caught her attention. "We got what we needed," she said with a small smile growing on her face.

Great, terrific, time to go now. Seeing Manhunter scooping up the entire stack and not making a move to place any back in the safe, Canary shut the safe door and swung the picture back into place over it. No need to announce to the morning shift they had been robbed the moment they entered the—

Suddenly, a door on the other side of the room swung open, two men in security guard uniforms stepping in only to stop the moment they caught sight of the women. Canary only had a second to stare at the two men before their guns were ripped out of their holsters and pointed right at her and Manhunter. "Stay where you are," one of them demanded, both men began to edge their way to the two women. "You will do as we say or we will shoot you."

"At least these guys warn you," Manhunter grumbled, keeping still. Black Canary merely glanced at the other woman, but held her ground. If these guys were going to do what she thought they were, then this situation would resolve itself momentarily.

"Both of you, hands above your heads," the guard ordered them. The black-clad woman would've frowned at those words, but she kept her face still. Even as she began to raise her hands up, she forced herself not to look for her third teammate, who had somehow not been spotted.

Without warning, both men suddenly flinched, their faces twisting with pain before they collapsed to the floor. Standing behind them was Katana, one hand raised, fingers pressed together with the thumb curled into the palm. It didn't take much to figure that the Asian woman had delivered swift chops to the back of the guard's necks, rendering them unconscious.

"Nicely done," Manhunter complemented Katana. She then began striding towards the back door. "Now let's—"

Suddenly, a steel door slid shut in front of the open back door. The same happened with the door the guards had entered. Spinning around, Black Canary watched as each possible exit, be it door or window, were sealed shut. "Damn Deja vu," she muttered.

Then, as if to make matters worse, a hissing sound started, causing the three women to look up. From the air conditioning vents, an opaque, green gas was flowing out. There was no telling what that gas was, but it most certainly wasn't good for them.

"Oh, come on!" Manhunter groaned loudly. "Since when did Thorne have this in place! That wasn't on the schematics."

"It rarely is," Katana responded as she calmly walked over to Black Canary.

"Think you can cut through those doors?" the blonde asked. It wasn't often, but the Asian woman had shown she had the ability to cut through solid steel with her enchanted sword. Of course, that steel was usually the size of a gun barrel or pipe.

Katana shook her head. "No."

"I could use some of my plastique," Manhunter offered, earning herself the attention of the room. "It might take too long for me to set it up though, what with that gas coming in."

 _Not to mention noisy as hell,_ Canary added in her head. Then again, any possible way they had to get out of here was probably going to make some noise. It was just a matter of if they wanted to blow something up now or later.

A glance to the invasive gas made the decision for them.

"Cover your ears," Black Canary declared, causing Katana to immediately clamp her hands over her ears, Manhunter giving them both an odd look before she did the same. Moving towards a wall well away from any windows or doorways, the blonde sucked in as much air as she could before she began to scream.

As her Canary Cry rang out, the sheetrock she faced immediately cratered from the force, a spider's web of cracks branching out all over the wall. Keeping it up, it wasn't long before the crater blew apart, sending debris flying out into an alleyway.

Stopping the cry, Black Canary took a deep breath and relaxed. It was several moments before she heard Manhunter say, "I had no idea that you could do that."

"I've had to destroy a wall or two on occasion," the blonde shrugged before she walked into the alley. "I think we've overstayed our welcome, ladies. Time to jet."

* * *

It was almost nostalgic that the three of them were in the same place once again. If you took out the fact that only two of them were suited up and the third was in a wheelchair. It still had been some time since the founding members of the Batclan were together, discussing their next moves and whatnot.

While it was not lost on Robin, he had more pressing concerns. Other things that were distracting him. Trying to work it, physically, out of his system hadn't done much. That would explain why he wasn't paying too close attention to what Barbara was saying.

"So I've looked into diamond smuggling and found out a lot of things I never knew," the wheelchair bound woman was saying. "Apparently, the majority of all diamond mining and exploration is all done by one company, the De Beers Group. I say majority, when I actually mean they are damn near a monopoly. In Gotham, at least, every jewelry store, any place that has diamonds in it, they all get their supply from De Beers."

Nightwing whistled from where he stood, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed over his chest. "How much do they rake in?"

"Billions. What do you think. Anyway, back in 2000, the Kimberley Process Certification System was created in an attempt to get conflict diamonds off the market. Conflict diamonds are used to fund wars, usually those in Africa. That's why they are sometimes called blood diamonds," Barbara continued.

"Like that movie," Nightwing suggested.

"Yeah, like that movie," Barbara deadpanned. "So, assuming that those diamonds you found are conflict diamonds, it sounds like Thorne is planning on funding a war over in central or western Africa."

"But what does he get out of that?" Nightwing asked aloud, a rhetorical question to be sure if Robin had been paying attention.

"Well, either that or he wants to get some quick cash out of Gotham by flooding the market with cheaper diamonds, perhaps weaseling his way into the jewelry business. It is a multi-billion dollar industry. Until you can find out more, all I've given you are theories." Barbara shrugged.

"Okay, so we're about to cost a mob boss a lot of cash and get him really pissed off at us," Nightwing summed up. Then, with a smirk, added, "If he can figure out it was us who did it."

"I don't think it will be that simple; you need to prove that those diamonds are conflict diamonds. If you can't, it could be played off as one man not trusting banks enough to keep his diamonds in them," Barbara pointed out.

"Good point. What do you think, Ti—I mean, Robin?" Nightwing turned to him and it took a moment for the costumed teen to realize that he had been spoken to. Worse, he had no idea what it was that he was being asked about.

"Sorry," he grumbled. "I wasn't listening. Could you go over it again?"

He got a blank look from the older vigilante while their handicapped friend was giving him an odd look. Okay, that was definitely not a good sign. For him, at least.

"Don't get lost in the clouds there, bird boy. We need you down on earth," the older male quipped. "We were just thinking of how to prove those diamonds Thorne is bringing in are illegal. Any thoughts?"

"Well…" the youngest of the three of them trailed off, wracking his brain to come up with something and not lose some respect in the process. "...we do know where they're keeping them. How about we figure out where they're getting them. Try to trace back where they're picking up the diamonds in the first place."

"Not bad. How do you propose we do that?" Nightwing asked, pressing him for details that he hadn't thought of yet. Come on, Dick. Give him a break already!

Robin bit his lip, trying to come up with something, anything, and to do it, like, right now. Sad to say, for once, he had nothing.

"This might be a lot coming from me, but you're awfully quiet," Barbara spoke up. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were...distracted."

"Robin's been having a tough time lately," Nightwing answered for him.

"A tough time?" Now Robin was wincing because the way Barbara said those words were almost biting. She was emphasizing each word, saying them slowly. "Really. You don't say."

For a second, Robin felt pissed. Where did she come off, sounding like that. She had no idea what he was going through right now, what his family was going through right now. It wasn't like she had lost—oh wait. He had forgotten about her paralysis. That her family was also having to adjust to her handicap. That it was going through a lot too.

He knew this, knew this as fact. Yet, it did not change what he felt, and what he felt right now was anger and a lot of it.

Because here she was, sitting around this place all day and night, moping. Yeah, she had lost her ability to walk, but it wasn't like she had lost a family member. It wasn't like she was watching his parents crumble apart and trying oh so hard to keep it together. No, it was this whole "oh, woe is me" bullshit.

It had been _weeks_ since that last time he had spoken with her, and about the same amount of time he had seen her. Barbara made no effort to keep in contact or anything. At first, he was willing to give her space, but right now, he was not in the mood for this.

"I have better things to do than do your Google searches, _Tim_ ," Barbara snapped at him, and to add some insult to injury, she used his actual name.

"Oh yeah? Like what?" he challenged, glaring at him.

"Guys," Nightwing said warningly.

"I don't have to take anything from you, Tim. I certainly don't have to take this," Barbara retorted hotly. "I didn't have to spend hours researching the diamond trade and smuggling and all the Godawful things happening in Africa for you to give me attitude."

"Look who's giving who an attitude now!" he shot back. "You know what you sound like? You sound like you're the only person who's suffering right now. It's bad what happened to you, but instead of doing something about it, you sit around this place all day long like the world is over."

"What the hell am I supposed to do, figure out a cure for paraplegia? Like I have any medical training," the paraplegic woman retorted.

"Go on, tell me how you really feel," the masked teen taunted. "That can't be all it. Why don't you go out and get some medical training? Huh?"

"Okay, that's enough," Nightwing cut in, getting in between the two of them. "You both need to lay off each other and cool down. We're a team here, remember? We're supposed to be working together, not trying to tear each other apart."

"She's the one that started it!" Robin exclaimed, gesturing towards the only woman in the room.

"And I'm ending it," Nightwing _growled_ at him. Whoa, where did that come from. "You're both acting like kids."

Robin narrowed his eyes and he could have sworn he heard Barbara mutter something, and he had a pretty good idea of what it was.

Before he could say anything, though, Nightwing took command of the room. "Before anybody does anything they'll regret, let me say something. Robin, I'm gonna tell her what's going on and get it all out there. Barbara, I want you to listen for a bit and when I'm done, if you both still feel like it, you can go at each other. Alright?"

Robin rolled his eyes and looked away. It wasn't like he cared what Nightwing told her.

"Okay. Barbara. Robin just found out an aunt of his was murdered, and it was in Gotham. His parents aren't taking it well and you know how close he is to them," Nightwing explained in a much calmer voice. "I've been with him most of the day and trust me, this is him at his calmest."

There was silence coming from Barbara, not that he expected any kind of apology coming from her. So, instead, he decided to be the one to break it.

"I want to find him. I want to find the bastard that killed my aunt," he stated into the quiet room.

His declaration silenced the room once more. He could feel the stares from the other two, but Tim—no, Robin—was resolute about this. He had the abilities, he had the know-how, it was time for him to put it to use in catching the man who murdered Aunt Kathleen.

It wasn't going to be easy, he knew that. But he couldn't, no, wouldn't let whoever was responsible get away with this.

"Are you sure about this Tim?" Barbara asked, her voice soft. Had he looked, he would have seen her gripping the armrests of her wheelchair tightly. He didn't, though, and didn't see it. "Remember the last time we tried to solve a murder? You don't know what you'll find."

"There's not going to be some hidden conspiracy or anything. There's only a son of a bitch who I'm going to punch the shit out of then send to prison," the teen growled. "Either you guys are going to help me, or I'll do it solo."

"Tim, you know we need you, but we can't let you do this by yourself," Nightwing argued. "Remember why we came together? So that we could watch each other's backs while we did our best to make this city a better place. Right now, we're in the middle of taking down some diamond smuggling operation and I need you by my side when it all goes down. I need you to watch my back."

"This is important to me, Dick!" He spun around on his booted heel, glaring at the older vigilante. "If what you say is true, then I need you to watch my back while I find that murderer."

"Why don't you trust the police to do their jobs and find the killer?" Again, it was Barbara with that soft tone of voice again.

"Because I want to be sure they find him, even if I have to hold them by the hand and lead them there," the teen vigilante retorted heatedly. "My parents need this. My aunt deserves justice."

"How about you go home for the night, Tim? Support your parents, and give some thought about this," Nightwing suggested. "A lot's happened and you need a clearer head before you go down this road. Your folks are going to need you. Then, we'll meet back here tomorrow, and then we'll decide on what we need to do. Okay?"

Robin clenched his fists, wanting for the first time to deck Nightwing in the face. Was he trying to treat him like…like a kid or something? He knew what needed to be done. What he needed to do. And every day, no minute that passed, the less likely his aunt's killer would be found. He couldn't let that happen.

He just couldn't!

But from the look Nightwing was giving him, it looked like he was going to have little choice in the matter. Looks like his suggestion was more an order than anything. Damn it, didn't he understand? Why was he being such a dick right now!

"Fine," he grumbled, knowing that he didn't have any choice. Because if he fought, he would probably have his ass handed to him and then he would have to explain any bruising he got to his folks and that would be so much fun to do.

While he raged against the injustice of it, his emotions warring against the thought, his more intellectual side won this argument.

He would get his chance soon enough.

Even if he had to leave the Batclan itself to do it.

* * *

Kirk sat on his psychiatrist's couch, hands clenched together and placed between his spread out legs. Though his head was bowed, his eyes were peering upwards at the sight of the man seated across from him.

It was a very spontaneous and unscheduled session, but man was he glad he could speak with Dr. Eris about this. About his father's ultimatum and all about his work and why his father was interested in it. He spilled so much out in this session.

Never had he been so thankful to hear "Sure, come on in, Kirk. Tell me all about what's bothering you." This man was a godsend, he swore.

"So your father, the man who has expressed nothing but disapproval your whole life, who has demeaned you and shown nothing but disappointment and disdain, is showing interest in you," Dr. Erie summed up. "And not of the negative variety. In comparison, it is quite positive. In such a situation, it would be normal to be cautious."

"I know why he's suddenly interested. I bet he's paid someone off in my staff. It's the only way I know that he's aware of where my research is," the beleaguered scientist admitted.

"Yes, the solution to your…primary problem," Dr. Erie remarked. "And you took inspiration from bats, of all creatures. If it works, why, the fame and fortune that would follow…"

"Only people like my father are interested in that. I just want…I want to be able to hear again. Without this damn aid," Kirk spat out. "It was bad this morning, doctor. I don't know how much longer I have left until I lose what I have left. This needs to work. It has to. Then…then I can share it with the world. Make it better."

"And in the process, become a greater success than your father," Dr. Erie pointed out.

Kirk frowned. "What makes you say that?"

Intertwining his fingers together, the shrink replied, "Think about it, Kirk. How many businessmen, CEOs, and the like do you know throughout history? Probably only a handful, but of those handful, all of them changed how our world operates. Your father is not one of those men. How has he changed the world? How many new drugs has he produced? Probably too many to name, but can you tell me how many _cures_ he's developed? None.

"You, on the other hand, you are about to do the one thing he hasn't. You will be the one who goes down in history. Your name will be the one the world remembers. Kirk Langstrom, the man who discovered a cure for deafness, and not Abraham Langstrom, run-of-the-mill business CEO. He will be forgotten, lost to time. As are all those who find their fortune and enrich their families for generations.

"From what you have told me about your father, I detect that he may be jealous of you. He wants to be the one lauded, to be admired, adored. Yes, he presents that stoic, no-nonsense persona of his, but he has always desired recognition. Not you, though. You, Kirk, you only want to help others. It is a quality of yours, a trait, that a man like Abraham can't grasp.

"Those who are altruistic are revered. Those who stand up for a cause are honored. Those who change the world are remembered. That is where you stand, Kirk. It is the one place your father wants to be, and for once, you are beating him to it. He's scared, Kirk. He's scared of your potential, and only too late in the game has he realized what he has let slipped from his grasp. Tell me, do find anything wrong with Wayne Enterprises? Something, anything, that would make Patriarch Biopharmaceuticals a better option?"

"Well…there is Mr. March," Kirk admitted. "He's been supportive since I arrived there. He…he's believed in me. And there's Francine. She's the one that got me the job in the first place."

"Because she was already there and knew the environment at Wayne Enterprises' Pharmaceutical division would be better than what Patriarch was offering," Dr. Erie said.

"Yes. Because she was the first to believe in me. To believe in my work. To want to help me make it reality." His shoulders sagged as he thought about everything Francine had done for him. Really, she was an angel for him.

"You do have support, Kirk. People who will stand up for you, even against a man of your father's stature," the shrink remarked.

It was a remark that had the opposite effect of what it was intended to do. Immediately, the memories of what his father had done to those who opposed him, or worse, told him no, flashed through his mind.

"He wants the formula, doctor. He'll do anything to get it. I'm just a means to an end for him," he stated, his mood falling.

"If that is so, why has he not taken other action to get his hands on your work?" Dr. Erie questioned. "Could it be that even if he did, he would be unable to replicate the same results that you have found? This is your brainchild; no one else in the world understands it better than you. Perhaps he needs you more than you believe."

"Dr. Erie, you do know how he managed to build up Patriarch to rival Wayne?" Kirk asked, not expecting an answer. "When Elliot Pharmaceuticals fell apart, he snatched up everything he could, especially the distribution lines. Once he had access to new markets, he became almost unstoppable. You don't know how many people he ruined and trampled over to do it. He would brag about each one he grabbed whenever we had to get together. Like he was telling me how much better he was to me. That I could never compare."

Dr. Erie seemed to stare at him, though it was difficult to tell due to the glare of light on his glasses. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I am getting the sense that you believe your father will get his hands on your work."

"Yes," Kirk answered softly.

"Hmm. There's more to it. Something I missed. It's more than him getting your work. What is it, Kirk. What is it that terrifies you so?"

"I'm afraid," he nearly whimpered. "I'm afraid he'll find out that it doesn't work, that he went through all this effort for nothing and then…"

"Judge you for it," Dr. Erie finished for him. "That it would be confirmation of everything he's ever thought about you. His opinion of you, even now, is important to you. It is as important as curing your hearing loss."

Kirk said nothing to that, his silence being his answer. It was like how the psychiatrist put it. There was no other way to put it.

"Tell me, what stage of research are you in, Kirk?" was the first question asked.

Almost robotically, he answered, "Animal testing. Our hearing impaired rats have received the formula and now we're waiting to see what will happen."

"Are you afraid that what results you find will come after the deadline your father has set?"

"Yes."

"So there is no time to waste, I assume."

Kirk combed his fingers through his hair, despair overwhelming him.

"I...wouldn't normally say this, but you would not be the first man of science to use himself as a test subject."

It took a moment for those words to register, but when they did, the miserable scientist jerked his head up, wincing immediately as his fingers pulled hair from his scalp by accident.

"Wh-what? What was that?!" he exclaimed, doubting that he had heard what he thought the shrink had said.

"Forgive me for saying that, Kirk. Forget I said anything," Dr. Erie said quickly, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"No, please, repeat what you said," Kirk demanded for once in his life.

"No, Kirk. Just drop it. It's—"

"You did say I should try it out on myself first, didn't you?" Kirk was not willing to drop this. Something about those words resonated within him and he wanted to hear more.

No. He _needed_ to hear more.

Dr. Erie sighed, giving in. "Many scientists in the past have used themselves as test subjects to test their theories. Jonas Salk, Humphrey Davy, Pierre and Marie Curie, Albert Hofmann, to name a few. Unbelievable discoveries have been made by such individuals, and they changed the world for the better."

"Didn't Hofmann discover lysergic acid diethylamide?" Kirk asked, frowning.

"You always pick up the most interesting facts in your pharmacology classes," Dr. Erie excused. "However, there is always a danger with doing such a thing. You never quite know what you are putting into your system or how it will ultimately affect you. If that is the path you wish to choose, do it carefully."

The psychiatrist paused for a moment, as if a thought had occurred to him. "Then again, unless you want to know immediately, there's no other choice than volunteering yourself. You know, just forget that I mentioned any of this."

"Sure," Kirk said slowly, but the idea had been planted in his head already. "Thank you for taking the time to listen to me, doctor. You've…given me a lot to think about."

"That is my job, Kirk," Dr. Erie replied. "It is what I am here for, after all."


	8. The Nightmare Begins

The Nightmare Begins

A soft breeze ruffled at Huntress's cape. Just the bottom though, since she had her back pressed against a wall.

One reason for that was because she was standing on a ledge. Another reason was that ledge was maybe a foot long. And another was the ledge was easily sixty feet above ground.

Not a lot of room for error here.

Head turned to her right, the dark-haired woman watched as Batman fiddled with a window. It was one of those large, glass windows with the gold cross beams that made little square panes. She wasn't sure what the Bat was doing exactly, but she sincerely hoped it was an attempt to open the damn window. She wasn't afraid of heights, but they did make her nervous, especially when she had only a grapple she had never used before as her only way out of a long fall.

An audible click was suddenly made and Batman pushed the windows into the room—thank God for that. She hated to imagine just what they would have had to do if the windows opened outward. Steeping in, the vigilante was quickly followed by the young Batgirl, which left Huntress bringing up the rear.

Due to her hyperawareness, Huntress couldn't help but notice the lack of sound the two Bats made as they entered the room. That was in contrast to the _thump_ she made as she entered the room. The purple-clad woman only paused at that. Why was it she felt like an elephant clomping around when she was with these two?

"What are we doing here?" she whispered then, following the vigilantes as they headed for a door.

Pausing at the door, Batman tilted his head to regard her out of the corner of his white eye. "Our target is Andrew Yates. Philanthropist, businessman, and a member of the Court of Owls."

That caused her dark eyes to widen with surprise. "You mean there are more of them?"

There was a small shake of the dark-clad man's head. "He's one of a small handful of the Court left. I've been spending the last couple of years tracking them down and apprehending them."

Huntress had to admit, she was dumbstruck by this admission. She could recall the Talon Attacks quite vividly, what with her being against some seriously badass assassins. She hadn't even considered going after the Court members after the Talons had been rounded up. All this time, the Bat had been chasing them down—no wonder he had that big symbol in the sky.

"Yates won't be a problem," Batman continued, oblivious to her internal thoughts. "However, he won't be unprotected. Stay on guard: he'll undoubtedly have a few Talons with him."

"How many?" she demanded.

"We'll be finding out soon."

Oh, great, perfect. What the hell was she doing here, walking into a certain fight with more assassins? When had she actually agreed to this? She didn't recall any talk of her having to fight more Talons.

Any more protest she could have done was taken away from her as Batman opened the door slowly, peeking his head through the crack before he opened it more. Slipping through it, he led the two women into a hallway, silently making his way to a door at the end of the hall. The entire time, Huntress was torn between leaving and feeling like a clumsy oaf as she made more sounds than a bull in a china shop walking in the corridor.

Perhaps a better use of her thoughts would've been to wonder where Batman was leading her. He seemed to know where he wanted to go as he closed the distance to the two double doors. When he reached them, he carefully opened one of the doors, though he didn't seem to take the time to scan the area first. Instead he just entered the room with Batgirl and Huntress behind him.

Unlike the rest of the penthouse, this room was clearly an office. At the opposite end was a desk with a couple of chairs in front of it. On the opposite side of the desk was this Yates guy, who seemed oblivious to their entrance as he stared right down at some papers he was reading.

It was there that Huntress found herself stopping, mostly because Batgirl did. Batman, on the other hand, made a beeline for the desk, not once making a sound that would alert Yates to his presence. It wasn't until he stood right in front of the desk that he disturbed the silence of the room. "Andrew Yates."

"Ahh!" Yates yelped as he shot his head up, his eyes growing to the size of dinner plates as he stared right at the Dark Knight. "You! What do you want?!"

Batman's arm lashed out, his hand grabbing a fistful of Yate's dress shirt. Pulling back, he hauled the man out of his chair and over the desk, his face coming within inches of the vigilante's face.

"Not very smart, are you Andrew?" Batman growled, though Huntress could've sworn there was a hint of mirth in his tone. Her ears could've been playing tricks on her, but she felt pretty certain she wasn't mistaken.

"I'll have you know I run one of the largest conglomerates in the world!" Yates spat back heatedly. "I can ruin you before this night is over, you costumed freak!"

For a split-second Huntress thought the Bat was going to sock the guy, if only because he back-talked him. Instead, she just watched the dark-clad man stay still. She wasn't sure what look was on his face due to her staring at his back, but she could clearly see the enraged expression on Yates' face and she watched as it slowly lost its fury.

"Funny, that's what Joseph Powers said to me, and Anna Blascovich, and Alan Winters." Those names clearly meant something to Yates as his face began to pale. "A big difference between them and you though, is that you were stupid enough to come _back_ to Gotham."

"I-I don't know what you mean," Yates sputtered.

The steel returned to the Dark Knight's voice as he said, "You know exactly what I mean, Yates. You've been on the run ever since the Court of Owls attacked Gotham. You only just came back because you thought anyone that knew about you was either under some rock in the Mediterranean or everyone had forgotten about that night. Unfortunately for you, I have a _long_ memory, and I know every single one of your Court's members."

"I'm not a part of the Court of Owls!" the man protested. "You must be mistaking me for someone else!"

"Then why did you leave Gotham right after the Talon Attacks?" Batman shot back. "And why did you make large withdrawals all over Europe, particularly in countries your 'conglomerate' has no presence in? Not to mention that conglomerate is nothing more than a front for the Court?"

There was a moment of silence as Yates stared into Batman's unwavering eyes. Then, "You have it all figured out, don't you? You think you know everything."

The sudden admission and change in the man's voice sent alarms off in Huntress' head. Before she could move, much less take any sort of action, the door behind them swung open. By the time the dark-haired woman had spun around, four Talons stood, armed to the teeth with all sorts of knives, swords, and shuriken.

God, she hated these guys.

"I bet you weren't expecting this," Yates gloated.

To his credit, Batman didn't seem all that perturbed by this change of pace. He simply turned his head, looked at the Talons, then to Batgirl and Huntress. "Take care of them," he grunted.

Oh, so that's why he wasn't nervous.

By the time Huntress was looking back at the Talons, Batgirl had already launched herself at them. Two of the Talons had drawn swords, the other two wicked-looking daggers. One of the sword-wielding Talons leaped towards the charging girl, arcing the blade high above his head before dropping it down.

Miraculously, Batgirl sidestepped the swinging sword, one of her hands reaching out and latching onto the Talon's wrist, her other shooting out to press against his shoulder. Leaping off the ground, she used the Talon as support as she lashed out with her legs, slamming her foot into the face of a dagger-wielding Talon.

It was about then Huntress blinked. When her eyes opened, one Talon was stumbling backwards while Batgirl had landed on the floor behind a second one. Crouched low, she swung a leg and landed a kick to the assassin's knee, causing it to buckle.

Dear Lord, just what was this girl?!

The purple-clad vigilante mentally shook herself. She had been told she was very good and this was just visible proof. Awesome, soul-crushing proof. Ugh. Not to be outdone, Huntress pulled out her bo staff, flicking the switch to extend the ends out. Twirling the staff to her right and raising it above her head, she then brought it down as she struck a stance.

As if that were an invitation, the last sword-holding Talon jumped at her. Seeing the sword slicing towards her, Huntress swung her staff up, parrying the blade with a sharp _clang!_

The sword bounced off her staff, arching through the air before cutting back towards her. Backing up a step, Huntress blocked the blade again. Over and over, she backpedaled, repeatedly parrying the sword strikes, her bo staff whirling in front of her back and forth.

Though she was on the defensive, that would be changing any moment now. She just needed the Talon to make the slightest mistake and she—

The sword was thrusted at her, the Talon stepping too far forward, arms extended out in front of him. Spinning to her right, Huntress held her staff at shoulder height, the end of her staff colliding with the back of the assassin's head. Continuing her spin, she swung her leg out, kicking out the man's knee and causing it to buckle.

She would've gone for the knockout blow had she not been interrupted. It was a slight sound, that of a creaky floorboard. Though she was in mid-strike, Huntress dropped to a knee, leaning as far to her right as she could. A dagger passed right by her head, digging its way through her dark hair and cutting a few strands.

Bearing her teeth, she angled the end of her staff and jabbed it over her left shoulder. The purple-clad vigilante felt the staff tremble in her hands, meaning she had hit...something. Twisting her body so that she could look, she caught sight of her surprise-attack Talon falling backwards, head snapped back from an obvious blow to the face.

Unfortunately, that left her wide open for the kick that rammed into her stomach. The force of the hit knocked her backwards, causing the woman to land on her back. Flinging her legs up, Huntress rolled from her back to her shoulders, ending up back on her feet.

That's about when everything went wrong. Though she stuck the landing, Huntress felt her left ankle suddenly give out, bending at an unnatural angle to the point she swore the side of her foot was pressed on the floor. A searing pain raced up her leg as her face winced.

Unfortunately, that threw her balance off, causing her to stumble, which sent more jolts of pain through her injured leg. Even worse, the sword-wielding Talons was recovering, standing tall as he turned to face her, weapons in hand.

 _Oh, fuck me._

The assassin took a stance then, poised for his killing blow. All Huntress could do was hold her staff up in a meager defense, trying to put as much of her weight on her good leg as she could manage. A glance to a side showed the second Talon was lying on the floor, unconscious, much to her relief. She could at least give her attention to this one guy.

As it turned out, she didn't even need to put in that much effort. A blur of black attacked the assassin, knocking him off his feet and sending him crashing to the floor. The only thing Huntress could make out was a fist being held up before it was sent ramming down onto the Talon's head. There was a crunching sound and the purple-clad woman could make out cracks in the wood flooring

 _Jesus, what a punch._

Then she stood up, the thin-as-a-twig Batgirl, looking no worse for wear. Meanwhile, Huntress was wondering how she, a crimefighter with years of experience, was the one hurt. Good Lord this night was embarrassing, especially after she had been personally invited.

Thankfully, Batman didn't seem to care, instead focusing right on Yates. "You were saying something about expecting?"

Was...was he making...a joke?

Yates just stared bug-eyed at the pile of ruthless assassins, dispatched by the vigilante women. He then looked at the Dark Knight, gulping audibly.

"Now, you're going to answer me and if I don't find your answers satisfactory, I'm going to do to you what they did to your bodyguards," the Bat threatened. "But unlike them, you won't end up unconscious. You're going to feel every bone I break, every tooth I knock out, and every joint I mangle. Understand?"

Suddenly, Huntress had a good idea why her father had cowered in his room for days on end all those years ago.

* * *

Really, he should have gone home. He was running late as it was, and Francine would be wondering where he was. She was taking the time to make him one of his favorite meals, after all.

But Wayne Enterprises, specifically his lab, were on the way. And he couldn't get Dr. Erie's words out of his head.

Use himself as a test subject? Sure, there had been many before who had done that, but many had ended up killing or hurting themselves. There was a danger here, just as Dr. Erie warned him there would be.

Yet, as brought up during the spontaneous session, Dr. Langstrom had a real fear that the current concoction they had made would be ineffective, or a complete bust. It was a possibility that his father, who was making such an effort to steal him back to his company, would have little tolerance for.

Not that he was considering doing such a thing, not when he had had so much support at Wayne Enterprises.

But…

Kirk swore at himself for his own weakness, even as he made his way through the pharmaceutical division, his destination his own lab. The words of his father and Dr. Erie continued to stream through his head without end, causing him to quicken his steps.

What the hell was he doing? Better question, what the hell was he thinking? Was he really going to go through with this? Was he…?

"Kirk? What are you doing here?"

The familiar and currently not welcomed voice of his boss, Mr. March forced him out his thoughts, something that had been happening a lot today. The larger man, who now Kirk swore had a close resemblance to Bruce Wayne, looked like he was heading home. He was in his usual suit and tie, and he was carrying his briefcase. Sometimes the researcher wondered when it was Lincoln March would head home because he was always here first, and now it seemed the last to leave.

"Sorry Mr. March. I'm doing one last check on the...rats. I want to be sure that nothing has happened with today's injections," he answered, picking the first thing that came to mind. It wasn't a bad idea, actually. Maybe he could use that to really evaluate this stupid idea that wouldn't leave him alone.

"Nervous?" Mr. March asked, a knowing look on his face. "I've been hearing about all the activity today. Sounds like you made a lot of headway."

"We have," Kirk said, his anxiety beginning to leak into his voice. "I'm sorry—"

"I get it," Mr. March cut in. "You want to make sure nothing will go wrong. All I can say against it is that you're being a little paranoid, but you never know what might happen if you don't keep that close attention to detail. Sometimes not looking for it or cutting corners gets you in a lot of trouble," the businessman added, almost in a cryptic manner. "Go on, Kirk. Do your little checkup, but head home after. I bet Francine's wondering where you are, that is if you even made it home in the first place."

"Thank you, Mr. March. And I will," the anxious researcher said as he moved passed the other man.

"It's Lincoln to you, Kirk!" Mr. March called after him. It was a vain attempt; Kirk always felt wrong if he called someone like his boss by their first name. They weren't that close.

All it did was slow him down a bit and give him another chance to reconsider. He didn't take that chance, instead speeding up to reach his lab.

In almost no time at all, he was in the familiar environment. Straight ahead, his eyes narrowed on the compound he and his team had worked on all day. The bonding process was more than finished, thus no fire was lit under it. There it remained, the large jar holding the potential to change the world for all anyone knew.

As if to buy himself more time, Kirk detoured over to where the rats were. He could see some movement in them as the lab animals were disturbed by his entrance. Some were looking to hide themselves, others were by the bars of their cages, their noses trying to pick up his scent.

It took a moment, though, for it to occur to him. These rats shouldn't hear anything. They were purposefully made that way. While he would admit that his entrance into the lab was anything but quiet, for an animal with no hearing to be alert to him before he had made his way over to the cages…

Dare he get his hopes up?

Moving closer, the doctor raised a hand up and began to tap on the cages with a finger, making as loud a sound as he could. To his astonishment, the rats closest to where his finger was making contact directed their heads to the source of the auditory stimulus. In fact, more than one did.

His heart racing, Kirk repeated the same tapping on a different cage, watching the rats closely for their reactions. Again tiny heads were directed towards the sound. He repeated this same experiment again and again, his excitement increasing with each positive response.

The next thing he knew, he was rolling up a sleeve while making his way towards the syringes. He picked up a bottle of rubbing alcohol, a cotton swab, and a ligature on his way towards serum. Once again, he could see his reflection in the glass, the liquid behind it maintaining its dark green coloring.

Should he be doing this? Was he really going to go through with it?

 _Many scientists in the past have used themselves as test subjects to test their theories._

The needle of the syringe dived into the liquid, the plunger was pulled back, filling the inside with the serum. Raising it up into the air, Kirk gave the needle a flick and applied slight pressure to the plunger, watching a small, thin streak of the formula squirted out.

Whether Kirk would admit it to himself or not, his decision had already been made.

With the ligature, he wrapped it around his upper left arm as tight as he could, clenching and unclenching his hand to get the veins in the inside of his elbow to rise. Quickly, he wetted the cotton swab with the alcohol and rubbed it over the vein. And now for the moment of truth. With syringe in hand, he plunged the needle into the vein and injected himself. He watched as the dark green formula was forced into his circulatory system and once it was all in, he removed the needle and reused the cotton swab again to reduce any possibility of infection.

It was done. And now, all he could do was wait.

Maybe now would be a good time to head home. After a few minutes. After he let his pounding heart calm down. After the serum had run its course throughout his body and hopefully begin the process of restoring his hearing.

Then he would leave.

* * *

" _You need to have that ankle looked at."_

" _Don't worry about it. I'm all right."_

" _You can't stand."_

" _I've had worse."_

That was how the conversation started. Huntress had done a good job sucking up the ankle sprain, but she required medical attention. At the very least a splint. There was resistance, but eventually she gave in.

Unfortunately, therein lied the problem. As vigilantes, that limited their options. Hospitals were out of the question. There was no way Batman was going to take Huntress to the cave, conscious anyways. So what did that leave?

As it turned out, there was a clinic in one of the lower income neighborhoods. Huntress had led them right to it, something that annoyed the Dark Knight. It seemed she frequented this place quite often when she needed medical supplies. Considering this was most likely one of the few places the poor could actually receive medical attention. Filching such needed supplies was sacrilegious.

His initial assumption was right as Huntress led them through the back door and into an examination room. The purple-clad woman was sitting on a padded table, one leg hanging over the edge with the other propped up on the edge. Her purple boot was discarded on the floor, revealing her bare foot. One side of her foot was beginning to darken in a nice bruise, one that was disappearing as Huntress wrapped an ACE bandage over it.

That left Batgirl standing nearby, watching the dark-haired woman at work. She seemed fascinated by Huntress' activity. All the while, Batman stood in the corner, cape enveloping his body as he kept an eye on the two women and the door at the same time.

"You know, I can feel your disapproval all the way over here," Huntress grunted, not bothering to spare a look at him. She just continued her ministrations.

Batman didn't bother to reply.

"You're thinking how I'm stealing from this place, that there are people in need of this stuff." Finally she turned her head to look at him, her hair falling over the side of her face. "Believe me, I hate doing this more than you."

"You've done this before," he stated simply.

"If you must know, I know the person who runs this place. She told me if I needed anything to come in."

Silence.

Huntress continued to stare at him, waiting for some sort of response, one the dark-clad vigilante was not going to give. She already knew how he felt, had put the words into his mouth, not that she was wrong. There was no point in beating a dead horse.

That was when the doorknob turned and the door swung open, causing everyone in the room to look to the doorway. Standing there was an older woman, her hair grey from age. She held herself with authority, her white lab coat hanging from her thin shoulders. With sharp eyes she took in the scene, assessing everything and everyone in there.

Batman recognized her instantly.

" _Come along, young man, dragging your feet is only going to prolong this."_

Her name was Leslie Thompkins, doctor and general practitioner in medicine. She had always taken it upon herself to help the less fortunate and desperate of society, so it shouldn't have been surprising to find her in a place like this. What was surprising though, was that she was in Gotham. The last time Batman had seen her had been right before he had taken off to travel the world and begin his training. There had been a teary farewell on her part and a younger Bruce had been choked up with emotion. She had done her best to quell the anger that had been in him at that age, trying to bring back the boy that had been lost in that alleyway so long ago.

Needless to say, she had failed in that endeavor, though by no means was it her fault. Even abroad, he had kept tabs on her, learning she had left Gotham shortly after his own departure, though she continued to help the disenfranchised. When she had returned, he had no clue, but already he could feel his body go rigid at the sight of her.

"I take it you had a rough night," Leslie remarked, looking to Huntress, who only nodded in return. "Nothing too bad I hope."

"Just my ankle," the dark-haired woman murmured as she returned her attention to the bandage.

"Let me take a look at it." Striding towards the purple-clad woman, Leslie took hold of the bandage and began to unwrap it until she completely uncovered the foot. Gently she took hold of the foot and began tracing her fingers along the ankle, eliciting hisses from Huntress. "It appears to be a sprain," she said before she began re-wrapping the ankle, "possibly a ligament tear. You'll need to be off this foot for at least a week, preferably longer." Leslie then looked Huntress right in the eye. "Though I suppose that may be too much to ask of you."

"Not sure if I have a choice in the matter," the dark-haired woman replied, her eyes flickering over to the Dark Knight.

"Use ice to reduce the swelling—twenty minutes on, twenty off." Leslie then turned her attention to the two Bats in the room. "Mind introducing me to your…friends?"

"Uh, yeah." Gesturing with her hand, Huntress introduced, "This is Batgirl and the tall, dark, and gloomy in the corner is the Batman." She then held her hand to Leslie. "Guys, this is Dr. Thompkins."

"Pleasure," Leslie said, her eyes boring into Batgirl for a moment before she turned them onto Batman. With the same confident stride, she moved over to the dark-clad man, coming to a stop in front of him. "If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to have a word with you. Seeing as Huntress has a foot injury, it'd be best if we stepped out for a moment."

Batman merely stared at her. The less he said, the better, he felt. For some reason, he felt that if he spoke, she would recognize him and that was something he wanted to avoid at all costs.

Leslie, on the other hand, had other ideas. "Come along, young man, we need to talk."

* * *

Ever since he had put on the mask and taken to the city streets, Batman was used to others responding to him in very predictable ways. Fear, anger, and hatred from the predators. Surprise was always common. With the people he saved, awe could be included, sometimes respect. With the people he worked with, it was a mix of all the previously mentioned.

Dr. Thompkins was none of these. She showed no signs of fear, or awe, or surprise. She walked straight ahead of him through the darkened hallways of the clinic, a woman with a mission. The vigilante followed after her, much to his own surprise.

Normally he would have ignored any commands from anyone given to him. He did not wait on others. He did not follow other people's' orders. He did what was necessary; he gave the orders. Again, Dr. Thompkins seemed to be an exception.

The clinician led him into a large room, one populated with several beds and workstations. From what he had seen outside the building along with its location, it would not surprise him if this was where the doctor spent most of her time treating her patients. The examination room they had left was more likely used for serious cases, maybe to isolate if necessary.

"I would prefer if you removed your mask," the older woman spoke as she came to a stop over by one of the beds.

The Dark Knight did not respond, staring back at her neutrally. He was not about to do something as stupid as that. Not only would he risk exposure, but if he remembered correctly, Thompkins was on call, twenty-four seven. She would not refuse anyone, no matter the time, so who knew if someone would come bursting in here needing help.

"I see," the doctor said.

Batman continued to stand where he had stopped, his caped draped over his shoulders and covering his body. What did she want with him? Why did she want to speak with him, alone?

"Did you know that I met your father here. Right on this very bed," Dr. Thompkins spoke, placing her hand on the bed beside her. "He had had one too many drinks that night and, let's call him a friend, left him here while he went to fetch the car."

He didn't like this. He didn't like the fact that this woman was telling stories instead of getting straight to the point. It was like she was…dragging her feet. Not like her.

"Right there," Thompkins continued, nodding towards a spot several feet away from them. "That's the spot where your mother came in and the first time she met your father. Where we're standing right now is where Thomas Wayne first met Martha Kane." Leslie Thompkins made direct eye contact with him, staring him down meaningfully.

His blood froze and he fought to keep his eyes from widening. She couldn't possibly… It was impossible—there was no way for her to know. They hadn't had contact in years! But the fact she dropped those names, not just any names but _his parents'_ names. It was not accidental.

Somehow, someway, _she knew who he was_.

"I don't—" he began, but found himself, for once, being cut off.

"Why are you doing this? Why are you dressing up like this? Why are you going out into the night, fighting crime, scaring and saving the citizens of this city?" Leslie was now walking up to him, only stopping when she was mere feet away from him. "Why do you feel the need to do this?"

"Because someone has to," he stated, not willing to give an inch.

"No one _has_ to," Leslie stated back. "There are many ways for you to help this city. You have the wealth, the resources, and the ability to help this city. You do not have to do… _this_." She gestured at him, pointing out his armored costumed.

"Who then?" His tone of voice was cold as he spoke those words.

"The men and women who volunteer for it. The police."

He couldn't help it; a snort ripped out from him. "None of them have the resources or the drive to help Gotham. Most, if not the vast majority, have given in to corruption. They can't be trusted."

"What about the commissioner? From what I hear, he has done much to weed out the bad apples." Thompkins was not giving up. "Even corruption cannot last forever. You have done much for this city, helped put it on the right path, but for how much longer can you do this? One day, you will _have_ to take off the mask permanently. Why not do it now? On your own terms, instead of letting time do it for you?"

"Because now is not a good time."

"If not now, then when?"

"I am not interested in continuing this conversation, Doctor Thompkins." The vigilante turned his back towards her. "I'm even less interested in hearing what you have to say about my choices. The only thing you could tell me that I would be interested in is what brought you to the conclusion that you know who I am?" At that last question, he turn his head just enough to look over his shoulder at her.

She did not look taken aback at his rebuff. Instead, she said a single word.

"Alfred."

It was a sharp sensation that shot through his body at that word. Already, denials tore through his mind, defending the deceased butler from this outrageous claim. There was no way on earth that Alfred would have told anybody about this, much less a doctor employed at a free clinic in the ghetto. That man had kept secrets even the Dark Knight had been unable to uncover.

"Before you jump to conclusions, he never flat out said it," Dr. Thompkins stated. "While you were gone, we kept in contact, him and I. Most of our conversations were about you, and his concerns about what you were doing. When you came back to Gotham after years of absence, you could not imagine how happy he was. Then he let slipped a few details, ones I don't think he was aware of. They were little things, and at the time he said them they meant nothing to me.

"It was once you showed yourself to the world that I put it all together. I've known since before the Night of Ice who you were. Alfred knew I knew, and he swore me to secrecy, against my better judgment. Do not think for a moment he ever betrayed you. Even after his death, I have kept true to my vow."

That put him at ease, though he would not admit it to anyone.

"Make sure it stays this way," was all he said as he turned away. Already he was making a mental note to try and retrace all of Alfred's steps over the past few years, to make sure there wasn't anybody else. It would be incredibly difficult to do and it was only made slightly easier by the fact that Alfred didn't socialize much outside of the manor.

"So you're going to keep doing this." Another statement, one he felt he didn't need to reply to. Then a sigh. "While I don't like the thought of you risking your life out there, should you ever sustain an injury, no matter what it is, come here and I will take care of it. Lord knows how many you've had to attend to over the years."

 _I may not approve of this Master Bruce, but know that I will always be here to patch you up_

Uncharacteristically, the vigilante found himself answering, "I'll consider it."

Leslie was about to say something more, but a pounding on a set of doors interrupted her. By the mental map he had formed in his head, Batman recognized them as the front entrance.

"Duty calls," Leslie remarked wryly as she started towards the doors. "Keep what I said in mind."

Not likely, but he wouldn't say it to her. Instead, he backed away, heading towards where he had left Batgirl and Huntress. It was time to leave.

"Help me!"

The voice filled with desperation and panic stopped the vigilante from taking another step. A part of him told him to ignore it, to keep moving so that any ideas of him having any connection to this clinic never occurred. The part that was winning out was the one that demanded he help. A compromise to look, gauge the situation, and determine if his assistance was needed. At the minimum, it would only be a second wasted.

A quick glance over his shoulder didn't stay as a glance. Behind white lens, the costumed man's eyes widened. All he could focus on was that just at that entrance to this building was a man with a knife, one that was stained with blood. Leslie Thompkins was at his side, an arm wrapped behind his back, which didn't make immediate sense.

Shock was replaced with cool analysis. Little details made themselves aware to the masked detective. Details like how the man was _not_ holding the knife threateningly. How the man's eyes were wide in terror, beads of sweat dotting his forehead. The man's hand not occupied with the knife was pressed against his stomach where a growing stain of blood resided.

"He's trying to kill me!" the injured man screamed. "Help me! For the love of God, help me!"

Logically, he should have left, let the doctor handle this. That's not what he did, though. What he did was turn around and began dashing for the opened doors.

There was still a chance that whoever attacked this man was nearby and would not have gotten far. If that was the case, the attacker was about to have a very, very bad day.

* * *

Kirk Langstrom jerked himself away, his eyes blinking owlishly as he took in his surroundings. He couldn't recall when he dozed off, because that's what it felt like. And he felt like he could close his eyes again and be done with it.

Except the sight of his lab was what appeared before him, which wasn't entirely strange. He had worked long nights before and fallen asleep here before. Usually he was slumped over a flat surface, using his arms as a pillow. Not sitting upright, on a stool, that he barely remembered sitting down on.

Oh God, what time was it?

And why did it feel so warm in here?

He began patting his pockets, searching for his phone. It was like his mind was in a fog and he was doing everything on autopilot right now. Damn, where was that phone?

He clenched his eyes closed suddenly as a high pitched sound reached his ears. What the hell was that? And…and why did it sound like more than one…voice? He wasn't sure what it was that he had heard; maybe his hearing aid was on the fritz? Which couldn't come at a better time.

Almost randomly, he thought that pitch was the incorrect wording there. Frequency on the other hand might be a better description. But where had that sound come from? Maybe if he tried to place it, maybe he'd find the source? Okay, he could try doing that. Judging by the slight ringing in his ears (another oddity to reflect on), it sounded like that noise had come from his…left? Towards where the cages were, if he recalled correctly.

Well it couldn't hurt to make one last check on the rats.

Attempting to stand up, Kirk flinched as he only now felt the cramps in his back. Just another reminder that he had slept sitting upright. Definitely _not_ something he was used to. Nevertheless he trekked on, pushing his discomfort to a side.

Hmm, there was movement in the cages. Looks like somebody was restless in there. So how were…what in ever loving Christ was that?!

Standing only a few feet away, the researcher stared in shock at the small creature that dangling from the top of one of the cages. It was gnawing on the small wire bars with sharp-looking teeth, small clawed hands gripping tightly and from under the arms were these leather-like flaps of…skin?

What the hell was this thing? What was it doing in one of the cages? Where was the rat? Where…where…

Kirk's horror began to grow as he as he found another creature in the next cage. And another in the cage next to the one. There were more of these things? But how?

Then it struck him. The rats, they all had white-colored fur. Theses… _things_ , they all had brown-colored fur. It still didn't answer how they got into the cages or why. Just…just what the hell were these things?

The stressed-out scientist raised a hand to his face, or would have had he not caught sight of a large patch of brown fur on the back of the hand. From the fur, his gaze traveled up to his fingers which were longer than he remembered and tipped with fingernails that were definitely sharper.

For a moment, his brain couldn't comprehend what he was seeing, much less process it. Was his brain playing tricks on him? Seeing as how those brown creatures hadn't disappeared and been replaced with the lab rats, he was doubting that theory. Things weren't making any sense. What was going on what was…what…was…

Then it hit him. The serum. His life's work. The very substance he had injected into himself who knew how long ago. The same stuff that was injected into the lab rats…that were now replaced with those…

"Oh God," he whispered, eyes widened to their fullest extent.

What had he done?

Without a second thought, he dashed out of the lab, ignoring the fact that the lights were left on behind him. He needed to get out of here. He needed to go as far away as he could, and try to figure out what had gone wrong.

The hallways of the building seemed to blur around him as the panicking man sought escape, walking at a hurried and quick pace. His breathing was becoming heavier with each step he took and he felt like his heart was beating erratically, pounding in his head instead of his chest. As he passed by a set of windows, his moving reflection caught his eye. Something screamed at him to keep moving, but curiosity begged for him to slow down enough to get a better look, though why escaped him.

Kirk wished he had kept moving because how he came to a full stop as he stared at his own transparent reflection.

Hair was growing all around his head and under his chin and at lengths that should not be possible for a grown adult in such a short period of time. His eyes, though, they were...bigger and rounder than he remembered. His nose had become flatter and more pressed into his face. The pigment in his skin was darker than his typically white Caucasian hue. It was brown, or more brown than what was normal for any human.

This nightmare was becoming worse and worse by the minute!

Before, Kirk had been walking, now he was running, futilely running from the horrors behind him and the horror he himself was becoming.

He couldn't explain how with each step he took, his environment seemed to light up slightly, how each exhalation of breath made things clearer and more visible regardless of the distance between himself the object in question. Then there was this growing, burning sensation in his torso that was making itself known to him. So much was running through his mind right now, he couldn't pay any attention to anything with one sole exception.

Escape!

Somehow, the transforming scientist found an exit, one that led him into the connecting parking garage. For a moment, he felt relief as he was so close to getting out of here. Now if he could find his car—

Whatever relief Kirk felt was replaced by the intensifying of that burning sensation, which had taken over his entire torso at this point and was starting to enter his arms and legs and neck…

Taking a few stumbling steps, Kirk fell to his knees, his arms wrapping around him as whatever was happening began to reach its crescendo. Darkness began to creep from the recesses of his mind, slowly devouring consciousness with a soothing call.

Just before he gave into the darkness, Kirk Langstrom opened his mouth, but instead of a very human cry of agony came a high pitched, inhuman shriek.


	9. Investigating the Thompkins Clinic

Investigating the Thompkins Clinic

Exploding into the night air, Batman burst through the open doorway, his feet smacking down hard on the sidewalk. His head darted from side to side, searching for the assailant of the man that desperately sought refuge in Leslie Thompkins' clinic.

"Please help me," the man pitifully begged, lying on the floor behind the vigilante.

"Shhhh," Leslie shushed him softly, kneeling at his side. "You're safe now. Everything is going to be okay."

As this was going on behind him, Batman grew more and more frustrated. The streets were deserted at this time of night, so that left no one in sight for him to chase down. No way could he let an attack happen mere feet from him go unpunished.

That was when he noticed the blood trail on the ground. Spatters marred the grimy cement of the sidewalk, leading away from the clinic and to an alleyway. Launching himself forward, the dark-clad man raced towards the alley, skidding to a stop at its entrance.

There, right in the middle of the alley was a puddle of blood. There were a couple of trash cans lying on their sides, spilling their contents out; they were signs that a struggle had occurred here. Even more promising was another trail of blood drops leading in the other direction. Unlike the one he had followed, this trail was made of smaller drops, which were fewer and farther in-between. Some of the victims blood had gotten on the attacker.

Pulling out his grapple, Batman fired up to the roof of the building next to him, repelling up it until he was on the roof. Immediately he ran to the other side, looking over the edge.

 _There!_ Perhaps a hundred feet away from the alley was a man walking down the sidewalk, a hoodie covering his upper body, the hood over his head. Pulling out a bat-shaped shuriken, the Dark Knight sent it flying at the man, watching as it whirled through the air until it hit the man in the back of the head.

Even from where he stood, he heard the cry of pain and surprise as the man stumbled forward and fell to the ground. Immediately, Batman began running along the roof's edge, leaping onto the next building. The closer he got, the more he was able to make out of the man, such as his hood having fallen off his head, revealing it to be bald.

Closing in on a building that stood a good ten feet higher than the one he was on, Batman eyed an air conditioning unit near the wall. As he closed in on it, the vigilante leaped onto the large unit and sprung off of it, his body ramming into the brick wall. However, his hands had gained enough height to grab onto the ledge, allowing him to dangle there for a moment before he pulled himself up, his feet kicking against the brick surface to help haul him up.

The moment he was up there, the Dark Knight was back on his feet. Peering over the roof's edge, he found he was practically over his target. As it turned out, the bald man was looking around and ended up looking up at him. Even from that distance, Batman knew their eyes met, though the usual terror never showed itself in the man's. Instead there was…anticipation?

Immediately, the man took off down the street, his arms pumping at his sides. Instantly Batman gave chase, running on the rooftops. Coming to an alleyway, the vigilante leaped over it, clearing it easily and never breaking his stride as he continued his chase.

However, that's when the man took off into the street, not bothering to attempt to dodge traffic. Instead, the drivers of the approaching cars hit their brakes, their tires squealing from friction as they skid to stops, horns blaring out in outrage. None of this bothered the fleeing man as he even jumped onto the hood of the car, his feet pounding on the metal surface before he jumped onto the sidewalk on the other side.

With his grapple back in hand, Batman spotted a water tower on the building across the street and aimed the grapple gun, firing it a moment later. The moment the cable went taut, he flew up into the air, soaring towards the tower. At the last moment, he deactivated the grapple claw and used his momentum to land on top of the water tower, the vigilante shoving the grapple back into his belt.

He wasn't done though as the dark-clad man pushed off of the metal roof with his legs, launching himself into the air once more. This time, however, he activated the current in his gauntlet and grabbed his cape, causing it to stiffen and go into glider mode. Sailing gently through the night sky, Batman watched his prey dart into an alleyway, disappearing from sight.

Pulling his left arm up as his right dropped down, Batman swooped to his right, angling himself towards the street on the other side of the alley. As he reached it, he leaned in the opposite direction so that he could begin dropping down on the bald man.

Unfortunately, Batman discovered that this street was a lot more populated than the previous ones. People were walking up and down the sidewalk, crossing the streets. Even more irritated was that there was no sign of the bald man.

 _Damn it, no!_

Batman angled himself to a rooftop, coming to a landing on it as he released his cape so that it could return to its limper form. His head jerked from side to side as he searched the street, looking for anyone wearing a hoodie, be it with a hood on or hanging on the wearer's back. He even sought out bald heads, but saw none.

 _God damn it._

Fortunately, the building the vigilante stood on was right next to the alley his target had disappeared into. Turning his attention to it, he noticed a trash can about a third of the way into it, its lid lying next to it.

More importantly, there was a dark piece of cloth hanging over its edge.

Jumping into the alley, Batman grabbed onto the edge of his cape, using it to parachute down as he landed roughly on the ground. Moving to the trash can, he grabbed the cloth and pulled it out of the garbage can, his face scowling as he recognized it for a hoodie.

Apparently the man had discarded the jacket here, meaning he was wearing something else now, most likely the clothes he had underneath it. He was still bald though, so that was a characteristic he should've been able to pick out up on the roof—that is if the man hadn't put a hat on.

Eyes staring at the hoodie still, it was then Batman noticed the blood stain on it. This time the corner of his mouth twitched up, forming a small smile. Though he hadn't caught the man, he had evidence of him, linking him to the attack. Though not as satisfying as apprehending the perp, this was still better than nothing.

 _Your days are numbered, punk._

* * *

It was just coincidence Vicki was here. It was on her way home from another story she had wrapped up and lo and behold, there were police cars blocking the street. Just on principle she pulled over to see what all the red-and-blue lights were about.

Apparently someone had been stabbed just outside of some rundown clinic—how convenient for the stab victim. Somehow he had managed to live long enough to crawl his way into the clinic's lobby, right where a doctor happened to be. According to the chatter she gathered—i.e. eavesdropped—from some cops, the guy was having surgery at the moment. He might actually live.

 _Booooring._

Vicki strolled around the police barricade, faintly wondering just how much longer she needed to stay here before she could jet. Already she was imagining writing up a quick story, calling Harry at the office with the details, and then relaxing with a glass of wine in her bathtub. _Sigh_. That sounded pretty good right now.

It certainly beat all the rubbernecking going on from the people leaning over the barricades. There were a lot of them that looked like they needed a bath themselves. They had even brought their kids, who really didn't give a damn about what was going on and were…she didn't know, playing? They were just running in circles chasing each other, screaming and shouting. Thank God she wasn't a parent.

Spotting a couple of cops lounging against a squad car, Vicki figured this would be her last stop before she got out of here. Sauntering over, she slowed to a stop when she could make out what they were saying.

"So you heard, right?"

 _Oh, how vague._

"Besides how lucky this son of a bitch was? What are the odds of getting attacked by a clinic with a surgeon on call?"

"That is pretty lucky. Know if he'll make it?"

"Hope so. The surgery should be ending anytime now."

A silence. Then, "Good to know. But that wasn't what I was talking about."

 _Ugh, spit it out already._

"I heard the Bat was sighted around here."

The reporter's head perked up. _Oh? What's this?_

"What's new? The Bat's everywhere nowadays."

"Well, I heard he was at the clinic, at least that's what the doc said when the vic showed up at her front door."

Batman. Here. In the clinic? Vicki's nose was nearly twitching at this tip. Now, what would Batman be doing in a rundown place like this? Hmm, seems like she needed to do some closer investigating.

Moving once again, Vicki made a beeline for the open front doors of the clinic. Though the police barricade blocked the entrance, that hadn't stopped the redhead before. Glancing around to make sure no one was looking, she slipped underneath the crossbar of the wooden blockade and slinked into the clinic.

The first thing she noticed was the numbered placards the police had placed in the lobby, the most noticeable one being the pool of blood puddling on the floor. Apparently no one had attempted to mop the area up, but then again this was a crime scene.

There wasn't much else here either, even cops since they were most likely out in the street. The forensics team had long since left, so that left Vicki all on her own. Noticing the front desk, she made her way to it and a door beyond it. This led her to the hallways beyond the lobby, and most likely the location of any Bat-evidence.

Roaming the halls, Vicki searched the place, checking every room, and avoiding the operating room. If there was anyone here that didn't want her here, that was the most likely place.

Unfortunately, the longer she searched, the more she was coming to the conclusion that she wasn't going to find anything here. There wasn't even so much as a batarang or a bat-rope lying around for her to filch. That annoyed Vicki more than anything. There had to be a reason why Batman came here and she highly doubted it was for the doctor. A picture in the lobby had shown some old woman named Thompkins as the operator of this place; unless Bruce Wayne had a fetish for very old ladies, there wasn't going to be a booty call here.

So what did that leave? Medical attention was an obvious motive to be here and the redhead knew the rich-boy-turned-vigilante collected injures like a little boy and baseball cards. The image of the burn on the man's chest was seared into her mind.

"What are you doing here?"

Jolting out of her thoughts, Vicki spun around, only to come face-to-face with the very woman whose picture she had seen in the lobby. So this was Dr. Thompkins and she didn't looked pleased to see her. Most people with secrets to hide didn't like to see her, so that was nothing new.

"Hi, Vicki Vale, Gotham Star," the reporter immediately introduced herself, closing the distance between her and Dr. Thompkins. She held a hand out to offer a handshake, but found herself rebutted as Thompkins rubbed her hands together, some sort of lotion on them. Dropping her hand, she continued, "I heard there was a stabbing recently and the victim was here."

"I am not obliged to confirm that," the older woman said before she gestured with a hand to a nearby hallway. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Doctor-patient confidentiality, I understand," Vicki replied, not the least bit taken back. "You can at least tell me if the…man? If he'll be alright?"

The doctor didn't respond, merely gesturing to the hall again.

Well, that was fine. Let her continue her silent act after she was asked this: "How about the report that the Batman was seen exiting your clinic? Surely you can answer that."

Thompkins' face hardened at the question. "Leave now, or I will ask the police to escort you off the premises. I'm sure they would love to question you as to how you got onto an active crime scene."

Vicki scowled. _Bitch._ This wasn't over, not by a long shot. Unfortunately, she was at a disadvantage here, so she needed to retreat for now. Once she had something more tangible than a rumor, then she could make demands.

Turning around, Vicki began to walk towards the directed corridor when she noticed for a split-second, something waving as it disappeared around a corner. Blinking her eyes, her mind tried to puzzle over what she had seen. It had been some sort of dark color, black or blue. Its waving flow made it look like some sort of cloth too. The redhead's eyes narrowed.

A dark piece of waving cloth? More like the edge of a fleeing cape.

There was definitely something going on in this place. If it was the last thing Vicki did, she was going to find out what it was, how it was linked to either Batman or Bruce Wayne, and then she was going to make this doctor spill her guts as to everything she knew about it.

For now though, she was leaving.

* * *

Bullock hadn't expected to be at some run-down clinic tonight, but the news of a stabbing was kinda hard to ignore. Especially since he was in the middle of an investigation into a serial killer who had a nasty habit of stabbing people to death. It needed to be checked out, if only to make sure that it was completely unrelated.

Getting the area around the clinic cordoned off had been difficult. Sure, blocking the streets with cop cars had been the easy part, but getting all the bystanders and gawkers who were coming over to see what was going on? Not as easy. It only increased his frustration when a whole alley had to be blocked off too. Apparently, that was where the attack had happened.

When he had arrived and gotten what he needed from the cops on the scene, the alley was his first place to go. Already he was picking up on clues just looking at the place. Definite signs of struggle, no doubt. Their vic had managed to fight off the perp, whoever that was, and that would be a good thing if the guy survived.

Something about the alley gave him a feeling, that maybe there was a connection to the serial killer. This was definitely the kind of place he could ambush or drag his victims into. What looked like scuffed marks at the entrance seemed to jive with that theory, that the victim had been ambushed and indeed dragged in.

But what could be the motive? For all Bullock knew, it was a mugging gone wrong. Their witness still better be alive in there or he swore to God somebody else was going to need a doctor.

Speaking of doctors, the old lady in charge of the place, and the person operating on the victim, was some piece of work. She was able to shut him down quickly, telling him in no uncertain words that their witness would answer question if and when she said he could. Something about health and bleeding heart liberal talk came after that, but the detective had his fill and would wait.

Some hours later, the clear came in and oh boy was he glad that the witness was awake. Sure, the lady doc said only a few minutes, but he was going to take full advantage of it.

So when questioning the guy, he had to…um…okay, what was that word again? It was something that he sure as hell wasn't. What was it, what was it… Oh yeah, now he remembered.

He had to be gentle.

It was half an hour later when Cort showed up, but Bullock was feeling a bit excited about what he had managed to find out. Before he would share with his—take a deep breath, you can say it, Harv—partner, he was gonna bust his balls a bit.

"What took you so long, Cort? Did you stop a couple red light runners on your way here?"

"What's the state of the witness?" the other man half asked, half demanded, ignoring him.

Shrugging, knowing that the time for fun was over before it could begin, Bullock answered, "He's alive. Resting and not up for any more questions. The doc was very clear about him needing his rest."

"We can't wait for him to regain conscious," Cort growled.

"Don't get your tits in a twist, I managed to get a little time in with him before I got kicked out," Bullock replied. "So get this, our victim was minding his business when he was attacked from behind and dragged into the alley we have blocked off. Sounds like your standard mugging, 'cept the perp never asked for his wallet. Instead, he pulls out a knife and tries to stab him. There's a fight, the victim manages to get the knife away from the perp and runs to find help. Obviously he was injured during the fight, but lucky him, he finds this place before the perp can catch up with him."

"Where's the knife?" Cort gave him a sharp look.

"Tagged and bagged. I had it sent to the lab at the precinct. Should be arriving any minute now," the huskier man said. "I've order every test we have, fingerprints, DNA, the works. If we're lucky, this might be our ticket to finding our guy."

Cort grunted, nodding his head. Eh, that was probably the best he was going to get out of the prick. The only sign that the other detective approved of his actions. Not that Bullock cared in the first place. Cort could take that approval and shove it up his ass for all he cared.

"Anything about the bat freak?"

Talk about a question coming from left field, but Bullock was far from being blindsided by it. Yeah, he had been hearing all about that freaking vigilante being in the area. There was even talk that he had been inside the clinic at some point. Naturally, when the lady doc was refusing to let him see their witness, he was asking about the Bat.

Now, Bullock was used to two groups of people, those who loved the freak and those who hated him. Tonight he met up with a third group: people who didn't care one way or the other. The lady doc was in that third group. Then again, she was more concerned about keeping their witness alive than what the Bat was doing in the area.

"Other than the gossip, not much." He shrugged his shoulder, glancing away from Cort and towards the other cops on the scene. "The doc's not gonna be any help. She's too busy making sure the vic lasts the night. If we're lucky, he'll be more stable tomorrow and then we can get some more out of him."

"We need to get him moved," Cort stated, looking over the front of the clinic. "To a more secure location, safer too. I feel like I'm going to be shot just standing here."

Bullock grunted in agreement, as hard to believe as that was. Cort did have a point; where the lady doc decided to set up shop was not one of the safer neighborhoods. If he wasn't wrong, Crime Alley was a few blocks from here. Definitely a bad neighborhood.

"Personally, I think it's a fixer upper."

Bullock's eyes widened and he slowly turned his head to his left. Standing closer to the doors was the lady doc herself, cool as a cucumber, and showing no signs of offense.

"Excuse us, ma'am," Cort coughed into one hand. "You're the doctor, Thompkins, right?"

"I am," Dr. Thompkins answered.

"We need to ask a few questions of you," the sergeant stated.

"I have time. Shoot."

Bullock had to hand it to her, she was taking this all in stride.

"When do you think the witness will be able to be transported?" Ah, going for a soft question there, eh, Cort? Probably trying to pick up whatever bits of professionalism he still had left.

"Depends on how stable he is. I want to keep him another hour, but you can call for an ambulance. I don't have the equipment or resources to keep him here long term."

Wow, that was different. Cooperation. Now Bullock had seen everything.

"So where were you when you first encountered the witness?" Cort continued with his questioning.

"Just a few feet from here. You have the exact spot marked off over there," the lady doc gestured with her head back into the clinic.

"And he was injured at that time, correct?" Cort pressed.

"He was," she answered, nodding her head.

"Were you aware of the Batman before or after you encountered the witness?"

Okay, what the hell was up with that question? Bullock turned himself enough to shoot his "partner" here a look. Yeah, it was a question that he'd like to be answered too, but what did Cort think he'd get out of asking this very nice lady who happened to be the person standing between them and really getting some answers out of their still living victim. Actually, now that he thought about it, that might be reason enough.

"By the time I was aware of this Batman, he was already running down the street. I had more important concerns at that point, such as keeping an injured man from dying from blood loss," Dr. Thompkins answered without missing a beat.

"So you didn't see who injured the witness, correct?" Cort pressed.

"I can't say that I did." Huh, no sign of flustering from the lady doc. It was like she was answering whatever questions they threw at her.

"So you would have no idea why the Batman would be in your clinic?" Cort asked.

"I would not. Unless he was here for medical treatment, there's very little one would find here."

"Would you mind doing an inventory for me? Just to make sure nothing is missing." Where was Cort going with this?

"I was intending to do that anyway, to see if I would need any more supplies after this recent emergency. That is, once you clear my clinic from being a crime scene that I may take inventory. I know how you officers like to restrict access to such sensitive places." Damn, she was a professional. And maybe a bit too aware of police procedure here.

As if sensing his scrutiny, Dr. Thompkins turned her gaze to him. "There are quite a few incidents in this area that require the attention of law enforcement, detective. After spending a few decades here, it stands to reason I would pick up on a few things here and there."

A likely story, something Bullock would check up on later.

"Once I'm able to do inventory, is there anything in particular you want me to look out for?" Now she was looking back at Cort.

"Just a list of what you have here and if you notice if anything is missing," Cort replied.

"Alright. If I may ask you, when will I be able to resume services? I am expecting patients in the morning and they have nowhere else to go."

"We'll get something worked out," Cort assured her. "I'll have an officer accompany you to the back so you can get started on inventory in the meantime."

Bullock waited for Cort to wrap things up with the lady doc, and once she was out of earshot, he pounced. "Okay, Cort, what was that all about?"

"We have a Batman sighting at the same time a stabbing victim shows up to this building," Cort summed up, looking straight at him. "What do you think the odds are that that freak is the one responsible?"

Bullock liked where Cort was going with this, but he needed to put the brakes on this thing. Even though he would love nothing more than to finally, _finally_ put an end to all this Batman nonsense, they had a job they needed to do first, and that was tracking down a sicko with a stabbing fetish.

"You got any proof? Til ya show me otherwise, don't forget what we're suppose to be doing. We need to figure out if the guy we're supposed to be after is the guy responsible for all this." Bullock gestured at all the activity and flashing lights of police vehicles that lit up the night. "The vic already described someone else, someone who doesn't look like a bat."

"You can't tell me that you haven't thought about it," Cort stated. "What if the asshole we're after is the bat freak himself? He shows his real face to the victim and then when out of sight, gets dressed up and tries to play hero. This may be our biggest break."

Batman the serial killer? Tempting, only one problem with that. Even he, Bullock, knew that the vigilante only targeted mobsters, crooks, and the usual citywide crisis. And it had never been proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had ever killed anyone before. There was too much evidence against that theory.

"Again, show me the proof, then we nail him," Bullock told the other officer. "In the meantime, I think I have an idea how we can find our perp."

"You do? Tell me." There was some skepticism in Cort's reply, but wait until he showed that sergeant asshole.

"See those cameras over there?" he gestured with his head down the street and towards an intersection. Situated on top of a pole was a camera, its gaze directed down at the sidewalk. "Those look like CCTV to me. What are our chances our perp and witness show up on them?"

Cort looked thoughtful, but Bullock knew he had made his point.

You didn't need to be the world's greatest detective to put two and two together.

* * *

The Gotham harbor was usually silent at night. Maybe there had been a time where it was much busier, though not all of the business conducted there was of the legal nature. Over the past few years, the nights had been getting more and more quiet, which may or may not have occurred alongside the diminishing power of organized crime.

None of that mattered to the security guards who roamed about, patrolling the area to make sure there weren't anybody who didn't belong here. Typically, there were a bunch of kids and/or punks who might try to sneak in but they were rarely quiet about it. Why on earth they'd want to come here of all places was a mystery unto itself.

Thus, a bunch of men who only had to worry about youthful intruders could be forgiven from being genuinely started by the loud, cracking sound of splintering wood. For a moment, they kept still, listening for a possible, follow-up sound. None came, but they already knew what they needed to do. It was their jobs to keep this place secure, and any sound that wasn't supposed to occur was to be investigated.

Armed with flashlights and tasers, and keeping in touch via walkie-talkie, the harbor guards who had heard the noise hurried towards the area where the sound originated. Beams of light cut through the darkness of the night, searching for any signs of anything unusual. With the moments ticking by, anxiety increased within the man when nothing was discovered.

Were their ears playing tricks on them? No, couldn't be. The fact that as many of them had heard it meant that it couldn't be some mass coincidence. What was going on?

One portly guard made a note of how far away one of his fellow guards was by the distance between him and the other's beam of light when an odd sound caught his attention. Outside of the static sounds of walkie-talkies and footsteps, there wasn't too much sound being made. For this one particular guard, what he heard didn't sound like any of that.

It kinda sounded like…chewing?

Taking a step in a random direction, he noted how this chewing sound became louder. Slowly, he made his way closer and closer, one hand clutching onto his taser while the other tightened its grip on his flashlight.

He was getting closer, unfortunately. Taking a second to request the other guards to come to his location, he continued moving closer and closer to a gathering of wooden crates. Some were stacked on top one another, others lined up in rows in front of those stacked. He hadn't seen anything yet, but those chewing sounds were becoming louder and louder…

Moving his flashlight side to said, he raised the light up, keeping an eye out for any—

He froze. He had been moving his light a bit quickly, so he had passed by some strange object that had appeared for an instant. Maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him now, but he needed to be sure. Besides, help was on the way, right?

Moving his beam of light back, he stopped it as it came across a moving, brown-colored figure. It was hunched over, from what the guard could see, and paying no attention to him. It kinda looked light some kind of…beast, or maybe an animal. Something. The guard couldn't tell what. The thing continued to make those chewing noises, though.

Was this what they were all looking for?

As if sensing it was being watched, the thing stopped all movement. The guard didn't know if he was breathing or not as this unexpected turn of events.

Then he heard one of his coworkers call out his name five feet away from him.

The thing spun around, revealing an ugly, snouted face. Large, red eyes took in the terrified guard, the light of the flashlight reflecting off those eyes and giving this…this creature a more hellish look. An inhuman shriek screamed at him right before the creature leapt up into the air

 _Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, OH SHIT!_

However, the creature did not come back down. Instead, there was a flapping sound that made the guard lift his head to follow the now flying figure as it disappeared into the darkness. He could still hear those flapping sounds, even as they grew softer and softer as whatever that thing was moved further and further away.

When all seemed like it was safe, the guard slowly lowered his head, and stare at what his flashlight revealed. He could hear the voices of the other guards, some demanding to know what the hell happened, a couple others crying back that some sort of monster was on the loose. All of this sounded so far away as he stared at what was in front of him.

Revealed by his flashlight, there laid a wooden crate that had been torn into, its contents spilling out. Torn into and dropped carelessly about laid mangled fruit.

Unable to really grasp what he was seeing and what he had seen, the guard's mind decided enough was enough and allowed him to escape consciousness through fainting.


	10. Picking Your Battles

Picking Your Battles

A groan escaped Kirk as he slowly woke up. Telling by how tired he felt, he knew that today was going to be a long day. Maybe if he could see what time it was, he could figure out if he could get a little more rest. That might make today more bearable.

As his body began shifting, the scientist began to notice details that had escaped him. For one, he was laying on a surface that did not feel anything like his bed. It wasn't soft at all. No, it was...hard. Really hard. And rough. As in he could scrape his skin against it if he wasn't careful.

And the air, it was colder. Not that it was a tropical paradise when he woke up in bed, but this was much colder than he was used to. Shouldn't the air be at room temperature? He felt like he was freezing!

Distantly, he heard the sound of tires screeching against pavement...

Suddenly, Kirk's eyes snapped open. His mind was catching up to him, and after taking a moment to let his eyes adjust to the light that nearly blinded him, what Kirk saw was not his bedroom.

He was laying on the concrete floor of the parking garage at Wayne Enterprises' pharmaceutical division. What the hell was he still doing here?

Oh. Ohhh. Oh, his body felt so sore… Why was that? He winced as several of his joints popped from all the sudden movement he was doing. Oh, that did _not_ feel good. This wasn't making any sense. What was he still doing here and why was he so cold?

It was at this point, he saw that he was wearing nothing but pants, and that garment looked like it was about to fall apart without any help from him. Where was his shirt? His shoes? Everything else he had been wearing? This made no sense!

He put his hands to his face, to try and calm himself down, only to pull them back as he felt some kind of sticky substance on his palms. What? What was this about? How'd his hands get so sticky?

Okay, back up Kirk. Let's take this one step at a time. What was the last thing you remembered doing?

He remembered…seeing something, something that scared the bejeebers out of him. Then there was running—no, not running. Walking quickly? Yes, that sounded about right. And he came out here into the garage, he could remember that. But what had made him want to come out here so quickly?

Then it all came back to him. The mutated lab rats. The reflection of his transforming face—no, body. A burning sensation deep within.

Quickly, the researcher checked his body, searching for any of the changes he now clearly remembered having. To his amazement, he found nothing wrong. His fingers appeared to be the right length. No claw-like nails. Quickly, he searched for a reflective surface of any kind, and found it in a car window. There, instead of seeing a vision of a hairy face with enlarged eyes, he found his normal face, the same one that always greeted him in the morning.

He touched at his head, trying to feel for any of the changes he remembered having, but found absolutely nothing. Nothing different outside of a little stubble. This wasn't making any sense.

Okay, get home, Kirk. Get home, and maybe pretend that this was all a bad dream. Hopefully. Now take a step. Good. Now another. And another.

It took him some time to figure out that he was on the wrong level. He needed to go down one floor to find where he had parked earlier. It was a bit of an inconvenience, but after everything that happened earlier, Dr. Langstrom was sure he could handle it.

Then he came across the tattered remains of his shirt. And his shoes. And the lab coat he had been wearing. More proof that this wasn't all a dream. Instead of letting it stop him, he gathered up the damning evidence and continued on his way.

He just needed to keep his mind on one thing at a time. One thing. One simple thing.

And maybe this could all be put behind him.

* * *

It was a very lovely day at the golf course. The sun was shining, barely a cloud to be seen, and heck, you could hear the birds chirping away while old men swore that their clubs were responsible for bad shots.

Ever since he had become the DA, Harvey had found he needed to learn a lot about golf. Because when it came to the wealthy and elite, golf was always the choice of sport. And when you dealt with such individuals on a daily basis, you had to pick up some things in order to press on. Sure, it was a stereotype that rich and powerful people played golf in their free time, but it was a stereotype for a reason.

Bruce Wayne certainly didn't seem an exception to that stereotype either.

Harvey eyed his ball, his chosen club lowered with its head inches away from it. He looked straight ahead towards where the hole was supposed to be, then back down at the ball, trying to figure out how much force he needed to use. Then he looked back up in the hole's direction, so many, many yards away. Then back down at the ball.

Then back at the hole…

"Come on, Harvey, are you going to keep us waiting here all day?" Bruce spoke up from behind the D.A., several respectable feet away.

"Patience, Bruce. I'm trying to figure out the least likely way I'll mess this shot up," he retorted.

"Harvey?" Gilda called to him.

"Yeah?" Golf was not an excuse to ignore your lovely, lovely wife.

"Just hit the damn ball."

He hit the damn ball.

He did not get anywhere close to the green. In fact, he was really close to that lake over there—no. No, no, no. Don't you…that damn little thing went into the water!

"Very bad payoff there, Harvey," Bruce remarked. "I thought you were trying not to mess up too badly."

"Laugh now, Wayne, but it's your turn now," he quipped back as he backed away from the tee in defeat.

"Just watch the master in action. I'll show Gilda how to hit a ball," the billionaire boasted as he took Harvey's place at the tee. Placing his small, white ball down, it was a bit amusing to see the taller man squirming his way into position, trying to adjust himself so he could attempt to try and get that highly desired hole-in-one.

Taking his place beside Gilda, Harvey chose to be an honest sport and wait for Bruce to swing. And wait as one of Gotham's wealthiest elite did the same damn thing he himself had done, making all those mathematical calculations and—

"Now's who's taking so long?" he drawled out.

"I'm just trying to figure out the least likely way I'll embarrass you in front of your wife, Harvey."

Let it not be said that Bruce Wayne was unable to come up with a good quip. And to use his own words against him. Not bad, not bad at all.

Finally, the swing came, and Harvey whistled at how high the ball was as it reached higher and higher heights. That thing was going, going, and not quite gone as it began to descend, falling back down towards the earth.

"Beautiful shot," he remarked.

He almost regretted those words as when the ball struck the ground, it was behind the green. Now it was out of sight.

"Not bad, but you overshot it," Gilda commented as she left the attorney's side for her turn at the tee.

"Well, I never said I was the best at this game," Bruce replied. "At least I didn't hit water."

"I hope there's a sandtrap back there," Harvey retorted wryly.

"I bet you do," was Bruce's comeback as he took his place beside him. "So tell me, Harvey. When's the last time you played?"

"Not long enough to make me look any better. There's a few guys at City Hall who love playing me, and you can guess why." The district attorney had enough pride in himself to not give in to the urge to sigh. Then, with a smirk, he added, "I never said I was the best at this game, either."

"What about Gilda?" the billionaire asked. "She's taking her time as well. Not that I'm complaining."

"You might be my best donor right now, Bruce, but remember that she's married. To me. Don't think I won't prosecute if you try anything," Harvey warned jokingly.

"A man can look," Bruce said wistfully as Gilda began to raise her club.

She swung and damn, that was a beautiful arch there. Almost as good as Bruce. Now Harvey was feeling jealous. It was like he was the only one here who wasn't good at this sport.

Surprises would not seem to end, though, as Gilda's ball dropped right into the green, bounced a couple times, then rolled until it came to a stop a couple feet away from the hole. It shouldn't have been surprising, really, but if anyone were to look at the scorecard that was conveniently left in the golf cart, one would see a pattern.

A pattern that showed that Gilda was kicking both of their asses.

"Harvey, she's taking our balls," Bruce stated as he stared with the same look of shock as the attorney.

"In more ways than one," Harvey agreed.

"You boys want to pick up the pace. This is getting a little boring here," Gilda spoke up as she returned to them. "What would people say if they found out little ol' me was beating both Gotham's district attorney and wealthiest man in a game of eighteen holes?"

"That you should probably go pro?" Harvey suggested.

"That's sweet of you, but try harder next time," Gilda told him as she moved around Bruce and him to return to the cart.

"Not a bad line, but your delivery could use some work," Bruce remarked.

"Thanks for the tip," Harvey drawled out.

This continued for a few more holes, Harvey trying not to play too badly, Bruce almost but not quite getting close to the green, and Gilda dominating the whole way. At one point, she managed to get a hole-in-one, and on a hole where Harvey got within a few yards of the green.

It was emasculation at its finest.

While his wife was preparing for her next shot, Bruce took the opportunity to distract him from their next humiliating defeat. "So how's the election going?"

"Well, the polls haven't moved much lately. That's both a good and bad sign. Good because Weinstein's not moving up. Bad because I'm not getting any more support. And if my sources are right, Judge Harkness is going to enter the race any day now."

"You don't sound too happy about that," Bruce said.

"Let me say that if I were to lose this race, I would prefer to lose to Harkness. Someone made up a poll, theoretical naturally, and predicted that if the judge entered, I'd be losing a lot of support," Harvey told the other man.

"She'd split the vote?" Bruce asked.

"In Weinstein's favor, yeah," he confirmed. "Not enough people dislike him enough to go over to Harkness' camp. I swear if he gets elected, he's going to mess up everything and undo all my hard work."

"You sound like you really don't like him," the billionaire commented. "Did something happen between the two of you?"

"It's your average case of two people meeting each other and not liking one another. Been that way since law school. Weinstein got it in his head that we were in a competition with one another, which isn't too far off in law school, and did everything to come out on top. I can't explain why, but I got caught up in it, and the rest is history. More often than not, I beat him. But he was always a sore loser. Spread a lot of rumors about me. The usual dirty tactics. I still had better grades than him, had a higher spot in the graduating class. He's been trying to make my life a living hell ever since."

"You sure know how to leave out the details. Anything I should know about?" Bruce asked.

"That's it in a nutshell," Harvey replied. "I'm past all of that. Weinstein could never give up a grudge to save his life. As soon as he got out of school, he shacked up with one of the mob families as their consigliere. He's in deep Bruce, and he's loyal only to himself. You'd be surprised how many families he's hopped to, what with their recent short lifespans and all. Thorne's his source of money now. If Weinstein's elected, you might as well put Rupert Thorne in that office instead."

"I suppose I can shell out a little more cash," Bruce said. "I'll see about getting others to join the cause."

There was a part of Harvey that wanted to turn down Bruce. The offer was really generous, especially during these times. That part of him, thankfully, was tiny. The rest of him, the part that was desperate, was more than willing to take over and accept.

"Thank you, Bruce," he told the billionaire, and he meant it. "I know we've only begun spending our free times with one another, but I think this might be the start of a beautiful relationship here."

"It could," Bruce agreed.

"Even if I lose, nothing will stop me from running again," Harvey found himself saying. "I refuse to let this city go back to old habits again. How can I do anything else when there are others out there trying to do the same thing?"

"You're comparing yourself to the vigilantes?" Harvey could practically feel Bruce raise an eyebrow at him.

"Call it what you will, but I won't refuse their help. So far, they've been the only ones incorruptible. I don't know who they are, but I hope that even if or when I leave office, they'll continue to keep fighting for this city. Though, I plan to be there for as long as it takes." He finished those last words grimly.

No other words were said as Gilda swung her club.

* * *

Leslie Thompkins, accomplished physician, frequent nominee of the AMA for various physician awards, winner of a few, renowned for her contributions to medicine and various social works, particularly her treatment of low-income and poverty-ridden communities. Left Gotham decades ago, returning recently and opening a medical clinic in one of the city's more disadvantaged neighborhoods.

More importantly, she was friends with the late Thomas and Martha Wayne, which granted access to a much younger Bruce Wayne.

Vicki stared at her laptop as she lounged comfortably on her couch. She had spent the better part of the morning researching the old doctor and found she was truly a marvel. It was too bad she had an association with the Waynes, otherwise the redhead was more inclined to do a story that helped propped up the clinic.

Perhaps she still would do that, if it served to strengthen her Batman story.

Though her affiliation with Bruce was an old one, Vicki was quick to note that both had left Gotham roughly around the same time. It may have been one or two years between departures, but the reporter could easily see it as perhaps Thompkins being hailed by Bruce for medical attention. That she didn't return immediately was suspicious as well.

Unfortunately, there was a slight problem with that theory. Wherever Dr. Thompkins went, she worked in some sort of medical setting, be it a clinic, hospital, or Red Cross campaign. Her movements were so easy to track, unlike the billionaire who practically vanished from public life at that time. From where Vicki sat, she couldn't figure out what Bruce wanted to do in those areas for so long.

Then there was the fact that Bruce returned to Gotham for a few years with Thompkins in other parts of the world. The good doctor didn't return until after the October 27th attacks at the earliest.

Still, Vicki was undeterred. It wasn't coincidence that the Batman had been reported exiting the clinic, not to mention her own sighting of a cape within the clinic itself. There had been reports of a new Bat out there, one that many were starting to call Batgirl.

Now that had been puzzling. See, there was another vigilante calling herself Batgirl, but she had vanished sometime during the Talon Attacks. All descriptions of that Batgirl had been of one with long red hair. This new vigilante had no such hair, nor didn't any of the crooks she had beaten down reported seeing any hair whatsoever.

So what was going on here? Did the original Batgirl join up with Batman and receive a new costume? Or was there a new Batgirl in town? If so, why was she hanging around a known loner?

Reaching out to her keyboard, Vicki hit a couple keys, which brought up a window, the image of Wayne Manor that her PI had taken showing itself. More importantly, it was of the girl appearing in the Manor's window. If Vicki's operating theory of Bruce Wayne being Batman was correct, it was possible that the redhead was looking right at this new Batgirl. And if that was the case, that girl had been in the clinic, trying and failing to vanish without being seen.

It seemed the student hadn't quite completed the master's training.

Now came the hard part. Vicki needed to confront Thompkins with this proof, if only to have her admit to the Bat-Wayne connection. Their conversation in the clinic told her the older woman would not be easy to intimidate, so she needed to make sure she had all of her ducks in a row.

Reaching out to her side, Vicki grabbed her cell phone and activated it, finding the phone number she wanted and called it. Placing the phone to her ear, she listened through the dull ringing until she heard someone pick up and greet, _"Simon Belford, P.I. What can I do for ya?"_

"Simon, this is Vale," the redhead answered. "I have another job for you."

" _That right? Just a second."_ Faintly Vicki heard some shuffling on the other end of the line before Simon said, _"Okay, what's the job?"_

"I need you to keep an eye on a clinic on the East Side. It's run by a Leslie Thompkins."

" _I think I know the one. Is there anything I need to look out for specifically?"_

"Not really," Vicki shrugged her shoulders, even though Belford wouldn't be able to see it. "I have a hunch about the place and I want to know if there's anything unusual happening there."

" _So what, you want me to do a stakeout? Or would you rather I make contact with this doc?"_ Belford pressed, his tone sounding unconvinced. That really didn't matter so much as he did what she was paying him to do. That still didn't stop Vicki from rolling her eyes at the detective's use of police lingo.

"Stakeout, preferably. I don't care how long it takes, find something for me."

" _Consider it done, Vale."_

* * *

Going back home had been a mistake. Tim still didn't understand why he ended up doing as Dick had suggested, but he had. He had spent that night with his grieving parents and only grew angrier for it.

So it wasn't too surprising that his dark mood followed him to school the next morning. As if sensing that today was not a good day to mess with him, all the other kids were keeping some distance from the teen. Which was fine by Tim; he was not in the mood to be around others today.

His mom was like a zombie around the house. His father looked torn between wanting to hit something or staring into space. They were like two different people. It just wasn't right.

He couldn't help but feel powerless about it. And he was a person who did have the ability to do things. He was one of Gotham's vigilantes, out there fighting crime and helping people. Yet he was helpless in trying to find his aunt's murderer. He was sure that if he could find the bastard, it would make everything better.

Where to start? He wasn't getting the support he needed from Dick, and Barbara was…well, she was not in any shape to help anybody when she couldn't help herself. He had figured that out last night, which left of the three of them, only the other guy in their trio and so far he was not pulling any weight around here.

And again and again, his mind kept following the same path, the same thoughts, feeding into and off of one another. It was a freaking loop, and he was having trouble breaking it.

Sighing, he pulled his head back to gaze up at the ceiling. Probably not a good idea to do while he was walking down one of the hallways of his school, but right now he was not in any mood to give a crap. If anybody here had half a brain, they'd watch where they were going.

It was one thing to say what you wanted to do, in this case find a cold-blooded murderer. It was another to actually do it. How the hell was he going to do this? Yeah, sure he did have a little experience with looking into murders. But that last one had been a doozy. It had involved rich people and secret societies. This, this had none of that. It was a normal woman, a victim of a random act of violence.

There was a real possibility that he would not find the killer, and that only served to piss him off more.

Letting his eyes fall back down, he took in the sight of the hallway and the other students. Some were mingling, some on their way to…wherever they were going, and others going through their lockers. Yep, everything was sunshine and rainbows in their world. Lucky bastards.

Maybe it was because he was sharpening his instincts because of his night hobby, or maybe it was because he had become a bit more paranoid about his surroundings thanks, again, to his night hobby, but as a girl passed in front of him, something about her seemed…off.

A second, harder glance at the girl showed her to be one of those punk goth kids, whatever they called themselves, and came complete with dyed hair, dark makeup, and a few piercings. That wasn't what had caught his attention. The thing about her that had that honor was the backpack she was carried, which looked stuffed. Not out of the ordinary, except there was a part on the side that was unzipped and he had happened to catch a look into it.

Those weren't books in there. If he wasn't mistaken, it looked kinda like…electronics? Maybe?

This looked like it needed a little looking into. If nothing else, it could get his mind off everything, if only for a second.

Keeping sight of the girl, Tim began trailing her, doing his best to not be obvious. He was really putting his street skills to the test here. There was enough distance between them that it didn't make it obvious that he was following her, he kept the steps even and controlled, he even kept his eyes focused on a point past her.

Now where was she going? If he was right, the computer lab was in this direction. Planning to try and cram a few more things into her backpack? How greedy could one person be? She could barely zip her pack closed from what she already had!

Tim's eyes flickered up and down the hall, spotting the aforementioned lab up ahead. Good work, Drake. Your skills in recalling specific locations were as sharp as ever.

Okay, now this thief was slowing down, and of course it had to be right in front of the computer lab. Based on the evidence he had collected so far, he knew he needed to act before she could try and take anything else.

Quickening his pace, he reached out put his hand on her shoulder, following that by, "What do you think you're doing?"

If the punk girl was surprised by this, she didn't show it.

"Isn't it a bit rude to grab people randomly and without their permission?" the girl retorted. She adjusted the backpack strap on her shoulder, inadvertently shuffling the electronics held within the pack.

"I think it's ruder to be stealing things that don't belong to you," he accused.

"And _I_ think it's even ruder to accuse people of something they didn't do," she quipped back. "Now get your hands off me and go bother somebody else."

Tim almost growled. Who did this girl think she was? And of course she was denying. They all denied. Reaching out, he snagged one of the backpack's straps and tried to pull it off. The girl, naturally, wasn't having any of it.

"What do you think you're doing?!" she demanded, throwing her shoulder back and trying to pull herself and her backpack away from him.

"Making sure you aren't going anywhere with this stuff," the teenaged male retorted.

"And I told you, I didn't steal it! If you must know, it was donated," the punk girl spat out. "So let go, you jerk!"

"Can't risk it," he snipped.

"Oh, you're just asking for it. Don't make me kick your ass," the girl threatened.

She wasn't serious. Kick his ass? Right. Like she stood a chance. He'd taken out muggers, rapists, and owl-themed assassins twice his size down. Someone who didn't go past his nose in height? No chance. No chance at all. But she could try. He was itching to punch something into oblivion.

"Go on. I dare you," Tim sneered at her, balling his free hand into a fist.

The girl glared at him, though for a second there was a flash of hesitancy in her eyes. Probably nothing at all, a trick of light perhaps.

However, before anything could happen and this went further, the door to the computer lab opened up, the teacher from within stepping out. Immediately, he spotted the two of them and frowned. "Harper? What's going on?"

"Nothing too much. Just making sure Harper here doesn't try to rip you off," Tim spoke first before the now-named Harper could get a word in. "Her backpack is full of stuff, all electronic. I think she stole them."

The teacher's frowned deepened. "What kind of electronics?"

"I saw a keyboard. A small hard drive," the self-righteous teen described. "I wasn't able to get a better look. Her backpack's probably crammed with more stuff."

"Which was given to me!" Harper argued, glaring at him.

"Yeah, it was," the teacher agreed.

Tim was about to speak further, but then the teacher's words reached him, causing him to blink dumbly. Wait, hold on, what?

"I gave her that stuff," the teacher explained, stepping closer to the two teens. "The school doesn't need it anymore, and Harper asked if she could take it home to help with her homework. All of it is dated, but with the right touch, they'd work as well as anything on the market right now. Just less memory, processing speed, and what have you. It was collecting dust anyway and the principal agreed to her request."

Huh? But…? Huh?

"Yeah, you heard the man. So back off," Harper stated as she managed to pull herself away, Tim's grip slackening enough for the backpack strap to slip out of his grasp.

It was taking a moment for everything to catch up to Tim, but eventually it did along with his actions. His face began to redden with shame and he stuffed his hands into his pockets, looking down. This was...oh, this was so embarrassing.

"...what's going on here? Was this boy bothering you?" The teacher's words broke into his thoughts, reminding him that he was still in this situation of his own making. Ah crud.

"I think someone needs to teach him some manners. He thought I was stealing this stuff," Harper told the teacher. "Didn't believe me when I told him."

"Well, you're not so…where'd he go?" Tim could hear the confusion in the teacher's voice, but the teen was out of sight at this point so he couldn't say anything about what the teacher looked like. As both the teacher and Harper were focused on one another, he had simply taken his chance to walk out of there and turn the corner just as attention was being redirected towards him.

How could he have made such a dumb mistake? Why'd he assume she was stealing all that stuff when he hadn't seen her doing it or caught her in the act? Stupid, Drake, stupid! You accuse someone of stealing without proof! You're better than that, you know that! So why, Drake? Why embarrass yourself like that? A goddamn rookie move.

He was going to have to lay low for a bit and hope that this wouldn't be brought back up. Knowing how his luck was going, he doubted that that would be the case.

Damn it.


	11. A New Plan

A New Plan

Rupert Thorne was not a happy man right now. By all accounts, furious was nowhere near what he was feeling right now.

Just this morning, he had found out that a firm of his, an accounting firm, had been broken into the night before. Now, if this was any ordinary accounting firm, Thorne wouldn't have been too worried about it. Except, this firm happened to have a lot of _sensitive_ materials in it, the kind of materials a man in his position would not want getting out.

The fact that none of his men were able to stop the theft only angered him further. Heads were going to roll for this.

Of the three other men in his office, that happened to have quite the view of Gotham, only two were close to having that come true for them. One of them was the man delivering this news, a scrawny little man by the name of Michael Doubleday. While not in charge of the specific firm in question, Michael was in a position where he managed and oversaw the administration of Thorne's public dealings. Pretty much, he was a secretary whose job was to make the crime lord look legitimate.

Michael was also the man who dropped this bombshell of information. It was a case of shooting the messenger, even though Michael was too valuable to lose in such a way. At least in the wimpy-looking man's case, he showed no signs of nervousness.

"Tell me, Michael, do we know who is responsible for this?" Throne growled, doing his best to maintain calm.

"According to our men, it was a group of women. Vigilantes," Michael answered without missing a beat. "If word on the street is correct, they call themselves the 'Birds of Prey.'"

"That's a stupid name," Frankie remarked. He was the other man in the room and not one of the two lined up to have his head on the chopping block. Though lacking a sense of tact, Thorne could always count on the blond, tow-headed man to speak his mind.

Now was not a time for it.

"It doesn't matter what they call themselves or how stupid it is, they have something of mine that doesn't belong to them," Thorne stated.

"Of course, Mr. Thorne. We're doing our best to track them down, though it will take time," Michael said.

"Time? We don't have time. Every second those freaks are out there with those files is one second closer they are to turning it over to someone who could use it against me," Thorne nearly snarled but managed to rein in temper. It was close, though. "Worse, they could upload it onto the internet if they wanted. Then it's open season on me."

"Calm down, Rupert. It's bad, yeah, but we can work around this," the last man in the room and the second person whose head was in danger of leaving its neck spoke up. Thorne didn't like that lighthearted tone in his voice.

"I don't like that tone, Mort," the crime lord stated, glaring at his consigliere and current candidate for District Attorney. Just seeing that overweight man reclining back in a chair with his feet perched on a coffee table was doing nothing to soothe the man's fury.

"It's stolen work papers, inadmissible in a court of law," Mort replied as if he hadn't heard the angry man. "Besides, by the time those files end up in a court of law, I'll be the D.A. Any case that can be made will be dropped."

"Don't be too sure of that, Mort. You're trailing in the polls, last I checked," Throne retorted.

"Judge Harkness ought to do some damage to Dent's voter base, once she puts her hat into the race," Mort remarked. "The vote will be split between them and I'll be the one who wins. You wait and see."

"I may be a betting man, Mr. Weinstein, but when it comes to matters like these, I don't take risks." Sitting back in his seat, Thorne spun around in the rotating chair to face the view of Gotham. "So where does this leave us, gentlemen? Incriminating evidence that could send me to Blackgate for the rest of my natural life is out there somewhere and a D.A. who would love nothing more than to do just that stands a good chance of staying in office. If any of you geniuses can come up with a way out for me, now's the time to say it."

Just as he expected, he received no answers. Michael knew his place too well to say anything that wasn't the answer the crime boss was looking for. Frankie, for all his loyalty, was not a thinking man. That's hired muscle for you. It was only a matter of time until Weinstein came up with some pathetic suggestion, like wait for the results of the election or leave town for a while until this blew over.

Like hell was Rupert Thorne leaving Gotham. Especially not when he was standing tall, the leader of the last major crime family left in the city. He knew from example what happened to those who left only to return later. A shotgun blast to the face. That was not how it was going to end for him. No way.

Then someone spoke, but it wasn't who he expected it to be.

"Why don't you just get rid of the D.A?" Frankie asked.

"Get rid of the D.A.?" Thorne repeated, his voice dark as he turn his chair enough so that he could eye his loyal thug from the corner of his eye.

"You know, permanently," Frankie elaborated, making a mock gun with his hand to further emphasize that point.

"Oh, that's a great plan, Frankie. Just kill the D.A. That would solve all my problems. Except doing that will put me on top of the list of prime suspects when the police start investigating, and with Gordon as commissioner, and Grange as the mayor, it's going to be a witch hunt that, surprise, surprise, sends me to Blackgate for the rest of my natural life!" He was almost yelling at this point, but he didn't care.

Most people by now would stay silent and forever hold their peace, but Frankie was cut from a different kind of cloth. "So how else are you going to get rid of the D.A. if you can't kill him? It's not like we can find something that could make him lose, right?" the henchman asked.

Heh, lookie there, Frankie was trying to use his brain. From the sounds of it, he was reaching his limit.

Yet…

Throne brought a hand to his chin as something that the goon said struck him. "Make him lose, eh?" he spoke aloud as he considered the words.

"That would mean making the people hate him for some reason," Weinstein piped up. "Shouldn't be too hard. I bet that man has to have a lot of skeletons in his closet."

Something that could make him hated by the people and would make him lose the election. Now this was something he could work with. In fact, he was beginning to wonder why he hadn't thought of it before.

"Alright, new plan," Thorne announced as he spun around in his chair to face the other men. "We need to find dirt on Dent. Anything that will stick. I don't care what, but it can't seem like we're throwing muck at him. This can't be rumor or some flimsy conspiracy theory. It has to be real, legitimate. Hard evidence that proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that Harvey Dent is unfit to be the district attorney of Gotham. That's what we need to find."

Turning to Frankie, he continued, "Frankie, I want you to put the word out that I'm looking for anything that will ruin Dent. But be careful. I don't want the rest of the city finding out what we're up to. Pick your people carefully, make sure they're the type who don't blabber everything after a margarita. We don't need a repeat of our Tijuana connection again. The fewer people who know, the better, but they need to be good at finding out information. You understand?"

"Got it, boss," Frankie smirked.

"Michael, your job is to find those vigilantes who made off with those books. I don't care if you have to tear half the city apart to do it."

"What about the diamonds, Mr. Thorne? Should we put a halt on that for the time being?" Michael asked.

Thorne paused for a moment, considering, then shook his head. "No, continue as planned. We're going to flood the marketplace with those rocks and get a bit of the pie de Beers has been hogging up. Keep those shipments coming in. We wouldn't want those African warlords to be unable to screw up their countries more than they already are."

Finally, to Weinstein, he added, "Your job is to keep campaigning. I don't care what you do, by the end of the week I want you up ten points in the polls. Twenty if the judge casts her hat into it. So kiss some babies, or whatever it is politicians do these days. We're taking all that Gotham has to offer, one way or another."

Turning away from the men, Thorne relaxed slightly as the beginning of a plan continued to form in his head. With Weinstein as D.A., there would be no way he would be prosecuted, even if those books made it to the cops. At the same time, he could show Harvey Dent the error of his ways and not accepting his more than generous offer to work with one another. Then, all that was left was the mayor's office, and once he had that, Gordon would be finished as commissioner.

It was all starting to come together, but it would be close.

But Thorne had had worse odds before.

* * *

Even though she was paralyzed from the waist down, that didn't mean that her stomach was paralyzed. Yep, today was the day Barbara had to go grocery shopping. When she had been able to walk, it was chore to do. Now that she was stuck in a wheelchair, it was an even harder chore.

Yeah, the store itself was handicap accessible, but the shelves were anything but.

From where she sat in her wheelchair, Barbara trained her eyes at a package of instant mashed potatoes, butter and herb flavored. Thanks to her chair, her head was level with the middle shelf. If she reached her arm out, she could reach the second highest shelf. The top shelf was within her fingertips, but she was unable to fully grasp at what she really wanted.

Though she had been down in the dumps for a while, she had had a sudden craving for mashed potatoes, specifically of the kind that was her favorite. And now, thanks to being unable to stand at all, she couldn't get those mashed potatoes.

Sure, she could try and make some from scratch, you know, use actual potatoes and not some flakes of potatoes that were naturally and artificially flavored and loaded with preservatives. But she did not have the patience for that and damn it, she wanted those mashed potatoes!

And yes, she had thought about getting some from a nearby fast food chicken restaurant, but it wouldn't be the same. Plus that joint sucked at mashed potatoes.

It was moments like these that really, really pissed her off about her life.

Once she had been able to see the very heights of Gotham, going wherever she wanted and kicking some butt when needed. Now, now she couldn't reach a stupid package of instant crap because someone wanted to make a supermarket shelf too damn tall for its own good! What was the point in all this if this was what she was reduced to!?

The sight of a hand invading her vision broke her out of her thoughts, and she watched as the appendage reached up and plucked one of the highly desired packages of butter and herb flavored instant mashed potatoes. Her irritation was about to reach critical levels at this point until that goddamn hand lowered to package and held it in front of her, as if offering it to her.

Barbara blinked her eyes dumbly before following the arm that the hand was connected to and found that that arm was attached to…

"Daddy?" she said dumbly.

Standing right beside her and holding the object her stomach was craving was the kindly form of none of than her father, the man looking down on her gently and with a twinkle in his eye. "Is this what you were looking for, miss?" he asked her, his tone announcing that he in fact already knew the answer to her question.

"What are you doing here?" the paralyzed woman couldn't help but ask.

"Helping a lovely young woman with her grocery shopping. What else?" the commissioner replied.

"You know what I mean," Barbara retorted.

"My answer remains the same. It's not often I get to see you nowadays," her father answered.

"You were following me."

"I only saw you wheeling yourself in the store. I just wanted to keep an eye on you, just in case."

"I know what I'm doing, Dad," she huffed, looking away from him. "I'm not a child or so helpless that I need you to help me with every little thing."

"I know. But it doesn't stop me from wanting to make sure you're all right." Moving around her, her father took up post behind her, grabbing the handles of her wheelchair. "Just tell me where you need to go."

"Dad!" she protested.

"It doesn't matter how old you get, you'll always be my little girl, Barb. So where to?" the older man cut off any other protest she could give.

It was too much of a bother to argue with him. If there was one thing she had inherited from him, it was his stubbornness. Right now, she didn't have the kind of energy to put up that kind of resistance. Besides, with her father pushing her, she didn't have to tire her arms out.

"Dairy section, if you know where that is," she stated.

"Your wish is my command," her father chuckled as he began to push. "So how have you been? I don't get to see you as much as I want anymore."

"I've…I'm living," Barbara answered, not wanting to give away too much detail.

"Living? Or existing?"

Trust Gotham's police commissioner to pick up on her hesitancy.

"What's it matter?" she asked instead.

"To me? A lot. I know I haven't always been there for you, Barbara. Not as much as you needed me to be."

"I'm fine, Dad. You always worry too much," she grumbled.

"You should know already, I'll always worry about you. You're not staying in your apartment all day long, right? You're going to classes and everything?" the commissioner continued his questioning.

Silence was the only thing she could answer that with. In many ways, it was the only answer she could give. It was also an answer her father understood.

"Milk?" he asked, instead of pressing on.

Milk? Where did that come from—oh yeah. She had asked him to take her to the dairy section. And what do you know. To her left was the refrigerated section where milk in all sizes were kept. Gallon, quart, and pint-sized cartons and bottles, as well as multiple flavors presented themselves for her choosing.

She chose a quart-sized carton of regular. Skim was probably healthier but she didn't really care about that at this point.

It was an uneasy silence that fell upon the two of them, her father pushing her again towards the frozen food section. It was his way to lengthen what little time they had as well as doing something as opposed to saying something.

"You're still interested in computers, right?" her father asked suddenly, proving her wrong in the process.

"I don't know," she sighed, not really invested.

"I remember you were before… Is there anything I can get you? Some new program or device or something?" her father continued.

"That…was a long time ago," Barbara said. She so did not want or need her father finding out that she was still somewhat involved with computers. There was some truth that she was using them less and less though, even if Dick kept asking her to do things on them. Besides, she was becoming less interested in them too, like she was in everything else.

"Well, maybe now's a good time to get back into them," her father replied, surprising her for some reason.

"Huh?"

"There's lot of stuff out there that needs computers, right? They don't require much movement to use, I mean, you don't need to...this is getting awkward, isn't it?" For a moment, the man who was in charge of all law enforcement of the city was tripping over his own words, trying to correct himself quickly and failing at it.

Whether he intended it or not, he only reminded her about her disability and everything that was lost to her because of it.

"What I'm trying to say is," the commissioner continued to try and rally, "there are positions in law enforcement that are requiring the use of computers for forensics and investigations. Not just administration and file keeping."

Ah yes, another reminder that she had planned long ago to get involved in the criminal justice system, following the adage of like father, like daughter. Still, she was a bit surprised, once again today, that her father had brought that up to. Then again, he had probably known about it for some time and said nothing about it. This was just another time when he showed her just how observant he was.

"So after we're done here, how about I take you over to one of those computer stores and we see what they have. I'll get you whatever you're interested in," her father finished.

It was a nice offer, but Barbara couldn't accept it. She just couldn't. No wasn't going to be taken for an answer, though, so she was going to have to come up with a different angle of attack.

"What about work, Dad? Don't you need to be getting back?" she asked.

"An extra hour won't hurt too much," her father dismissed. "Sarah will cover for me, if needed. She'll understand. So how about it, Barbara? Let me spoil you for once."

Okay, that she snort at.

"You always try to spoil me," she retorted wryly.

"One of the perks of being a father," the older man jested.

* * *

It wasn't surprising that Kirk was going to be a "little" late that morning. Problem after problem had come up as he had tried to escape the parking garage. From finding the car, to finding out his keys weren't on him, to finding the keys, then having to get into his apartment, hopefully without disturbing Francine…

The sun was peaking over the horizon at that point and rush hour traffic was starting. That's what he had to look forward to after taking a quick shower then getting caught up with his reflection again.

He still looked like himself. For whatever that was worth.

Fast forward to now, where he was clean smelling, at least, and dreading what he was going to find in the lab. He plainly recalled the mutated rats, and was not looking forward to his research team's reaction to them. It would only be confirmation that they were going in another wrong direction, again.

Suck it up, Kirk, and face this. You'll get through this, like last night. Even now, bits and pieces of memories were returning to him, most of them filled with terror.

There was one that had a different feeling to it. It was one that Kirk was having trouble reconciling. He swore, and he wasn't too sure of it, but he could swear it felt like…freedom.

It was ridiculous, and had no bearing on what the next few minutes had in store for him. As he stood in front of the doors to the lab, he told himself that putting this off any longer was not going to make it happen any easier. Taking in a deep breath to calm himself, the researcher steeled his resolved and proceeded into the lion's den.

Which was as calm as it was yesterday. Activity to be sure, but none of the panic Kirk was expecting.

Stepping further into the lab, the anxious scientist made a bee-line for the rats. That would be a good place to start.

Or…maybe not.

Much to his shock, Dr. Langstrom found not the mutated, nightmarish creatures he had seen last night, but the rats themselves, normal as normal could be. Some were sniffing around their cages, others were asleep, and a few were eating. All of them doing normal rat things.

But he could have sworn…

Unless…unless of all it had been a bad dream? That didn't make any sense. Those rats hadn't been there last night. And there was no way they could have been replaced so quickly, right?

"Kirk."

The scientist of said name froze up. The tone of voice was probably scarier than anything Kirk thought he had seen (or hallucinated?) the night before. Slowly, he turned around to greet the very peeved looking Francine who stood behind him, arms crossed and eyes boring into him.

"Ah, Francine," he tried greeting, but no more words came out of his mouth.

"Where were you last night, Kirk?"

"I—er, I…" He was having trouble coming up with an answer that might placate his wife, and no matter how much he tripped over his own words, nothing intelligible would come out.

"I was up late waiting for you Kirk," Francine pressed. "Where were you?"

"I was…" Come on, Kirk! Say something, anything! "…here. I was…here. I…wanted to keep…and lost track of, you know. Time. I guess."

"You guess," Francine repeated, raising an eyebrow at him.

"I'm…sorry," the repentant man said, looking down in shame. No matter what, he could not tell her the truth. Even he was still struggling with it.

"Kirk." He looked up at his wife and colleague whose tone of voice had become softer. "You're starting to worry me. Tell what happened. What were you doing?"

"I was worried about the formula. I stayed around too late and lost track of all time. I think I fell asleep at one point." Now it was coming out. Really. Not a minute ago?

"Then why weren't you here when I came in this morning?" He could hear the skepticism in her voice.

"I have no idea what I was thinking, but…I drove home and ended up getting caught in early morning traffic. You weren't home when I showed up, so I…I took a shower and came back." That part was the truth. For the most part.

"Kirk." Francine shook her head. "Sometimes I wonder if you're absentminded. Why didn't you call? Or check your messages? Because I called you many times and you never responded or called me back."

"I…must have misplaced my phone," the researcher muttered as his hands darted to his pockets at the mention of the cellular device, but came up empty. Funny, he actually couldn't remember where he left it.

"You lost your phone?" Francine observed, raising an eyebrow.

"I guess I did," Kirk agreed, giving up when a more thorough search of his person came up with nothing.

"Maybe you are getting absentminded," Francine muttered, looking away from him for just a second. When her eyes returned to him, she added, "You even forgot to put in your hearing aid again."

Immediately, a hand went up to his ear, confirming his wife's statement. He wasn't wearing his hearing aid. Sure, it wasn't the first time—

Kirk Langstrom froze. He wasn't wearing his hearing aid, yet he was hearing Francine without any trouble. It didn't sound like his head was underwater or Francine's voice was muffled. It was all crystal clear.

Kirk's eyes zeroed in on where their serum was. The memory of him injecting it into his veins popped up into his head, and was adding to the jumble of growing evidence that he was mentally cataloging.

Could it…be? Could it be that he could hear again? That the serum, this wonder of chemistry, had cured his hearing problem? Then, was what happened last night some kind of aberration? A temporary side effect that might only happen once? Oh, he could only hope it was.

It would be a miracle if it was.

"Can we continue this later? We need to start running the tests on the rats," he said, never taking his eyes off the serum. As if hypnotized by the substance, he walked past his wife without a second thought.

He didn't even hear Francine call his name behind him.

* * *

Coffee was a necessity in her line of work. When you were the Assistant District Attorney by day and a moonlighting vigilante by night, the number of hours you slept were really few and far in between.

Thus the coffee.

Kate Spencer loved her job—both of them. Never let anyone tell you differently. She had found that putting bad guys away by any means necessary was as thrilling, if not more so, than sky diving—which she had done on multiple times mostly due to jumping off of buildings. Talk about a total adrenaline rush. Now, she knew well and good that putting bad guys away through the law was the more advantageous of her two roles, but physically manhandling some of the scum she faced day in and day out had its own appeal.

However, as she entered the DA's office, she knew she needed to put up a professional front. Kate Spencer did not beat accused defendants with her bare hands; the same could be said about co-workers as well.

What Kate Spencer did do was make a beeline for the break room with the ever-lovely aroma of freshly-brewed coffee and make herself a cup. That was where Kate was at the moment, sipping on cup of java and relishing the burn of the piping hot beverage.

Work could wait five more minutes after all.

The sound of high heels clicking on the floor caught her attention then, causing the brunette to glance to its source. One of the other attorneys was here, a mousy little blonde whose blouse was button up to her neck. Clara was very conservative in dress, as if she were embarrassed she had breasts to begin with. In comparison, Kate had a couple of her top buttons undone, revealing a modest amount of cleavage. While she was well aware Clara was embarrassed about her body, she did go to lengths to draw attention from what pig-headed men would consider her better features.

They were both women in a male-dominated field and it truly sucked they had to think that way. But that was a fight for another day.

"Ms. Spencer?" Clara asked, clutching tightly at a couple of files in her arms. "I have the Bacarro file you requested, along with the police reports and witness testimonies."

Kate glanced to the folders in the blonde's arms. "Thanks, Clara, just put them on my desk. What about the Ricardo case?"

"Ricardo's defense attorney rejected the plea deal you offered. He said that you have no case and the offer—"

"Was insulting," the brunette finished for her colleague. She was quite familiar with how Stan Liebowitz, one of Gotham's rising defense attorneys acted. He would bluster and rage at any prosecutor, an attempt to bully them into submission. Kate admitted the tactic caught her off-guard when she first dealt with it, but she had been ready for it the last three times and each had left Liebowitz red in the face from anger and embarrassment.

"Tell Stan that if he doesn't accept the deal that we will go to trial and that I have a gun with his client's fingerprints all over it. Hell, the cops picked it up smoking right out of his client's hands. If he thinks he's getting Ricardo out of this one, he's dumber than—"

A rising level of chatter caught Kate's attention then, causing her to stop mid-rant. It wasn't unusual for there to be raised voices in the office, but it was always a little startling when you weren't aware of its cause. Frowning, the brunette moved towards the break room entrance, peering through it with Clara following behind her.

A crowd of lawyers had gathered around a desk, a television set sitting on a black cart situated in front of it. Moving towards it, Kate looked at her co-workers, noting the excited looks on their faces.

However, there was one person she did not recognize: a cop. He was a buff guy, that much his uniform could not hide. His groomed moustache did nothing to disguise the smirk that was on his face either.

For some reason, Kate felt distrust towards this guy.

"Okay, okay, what's going on here?" she called out, earning herself the attention of the room. In fact, the crowd began to part allowing to walk right up to the desk and closer to the police officer. "Who are you?" she bluntly asked.

"Sergeant Maxwell Cort, GCPD," the man immediately answered, though he made no move to offer a handshake.

"Thank you," Kate replied diplomatically. "Can you tell me why you're here, Sgt. Cort?"

"I have in my possession evidence for your office, ma'am," Cort said, angling his body to work on the television. It turned on a moment later, revealing the start up menu for the DVD player. It was then Kate noticed the officer had a disk case in his hand, one he was opening to remove a DVD from. He then shoved the DVD into the player and waited for the machine to read it.

"And what kind of evidence is this?"

"This is security footage from a CCTV camera outside the East Gotham Clinic," Cort explained, turning back to face her. "As I'm sure you're aware, there was a stabbing outside of the clinic, one that I'm positive involves the Batman."

There were excited murmurings behind the ADA. Ever since Kate had arrived here, she had gotten the sense the infamous Batman was a celebrity in this place—even moreso when she was out patrolling the streets. She had first heard about the vigilante when she was in California, but she hadn't really paid much mind to it. However, she couldn't ignore the sudden rise of superhero activity following his arrival, not to mention her own membership into that special club of crime fighting.

In fact, the Batman's influence had hit her smack dab in the face when she arrived in Gotham. While she was aware of the fanfare of some of the other heroes, such as the Flash and Superman, she hadn't been so befuddled by Gotham's attitude to its own guardian. There were those that celebrated his successes and those that cursed his very existence. Kate hadn't actually met the man, unlike her fellow Birds of Prey teammates, but she did see the results of his handiwork.

It was a lot, just so you know.

Just then, an image appeared on the television screen, drawing everyone's attention. Immediately, Cort began fast-forwarding the footage, which saw people moving up and down the street in front of the East Gotham Clinic. It wasn't until a man appeared on screen that Cort resumed normal speed. From what Kate could make out, the man was stumbling towards the clinic doors, his head constantly jerking to look behind him. A dark line was following him, though Kate wasn't sure what it was. She was rather uninformed about what she was seeing, something she was determined to remedy once this was over.

The man then banged on the door of the clinic, continuing to do so until the doors opened and the man fell through. A few minutes passed before a dark shape exploded through the doorway.

It was here that Cort stopped the tape, looking at the group of lawyers expectantly. "As you can see, the Batman was at the scene of the stabbing. Had it not been for the doctor on-call there, he would have surely murdered that man."

"How do you know the Batman was after him?" was Kate's first question. As far as she could tell, the man ran into the clinic and the vigilante came running out. She honestly couldn't' see a connection.

"The guy was fleeing the scene of a crime," Cort retorted. "The Batman has a history of injuring and maiming. That man that ran into the clinic? That's Eddy Jennings. Has a rap sheet with multiple burglaries and assault charges. That's just the type for the Bat to go after, a target he can't resist. So Jennings is walking along when the Bat attacks him, manages to escape, and flees into the clinic. The Bat doesn't give up and sneaks in to finish the job, is spotted by the doc inside the clinic, and flees the scene."

That was taking a lot of assumptions into consideration. "Is there any more evidence to this theory?" she pressed.

"Oh yeah, loads of it," Cort assured her.

"Then you shouldn't have any trouble bringing it here. So far you have a tape of coincidence mostly. Any first-year law student could point that out."

Despite her job, Cort didn't seem the least bit taken back. Instead, he just smirked at her, something Kate found she didn't like one bit. "Oh, don't you worry about that. I'll be back with more, I just wanted to make sure this tape got to you before it suddenly went missing. As you probably know, GCPD has a history of disappearing evidence, especially when it comes to the Bat. I highly suggest you make copies of this."

"We'll do that when you bring more proof," Kate said non-committing.

Cort was silent for a moment before he gave a sharp nod. "Very well. I'll be back."

With that, the officer ejected the DVD disk out of the player and left. That left Kate following him out with her eyes before she looked back at the television. It wasn't much really, but it did raise questions. Why was the Batman at that particular clinic? Was he following this Jennings guy there? Again there wasn't much to go on, but that didn't stop her legal-focused mind from forming questions.

It seemed she was going to have to do her own investigation into this.

* * *

Author's Note: I'll say this right now, the character of Michael Doubleday is made up, completely original. Sorry to say this, but neither myself nor ShadowMajin could find an actual character from any medium that involves Batman that could fit this particular role. Now, the name is not an original one; it's been borrowed from an episode of Batman the Animated Series. The name Michael Doubleday was the name of an unseen lawyer in Rupert Thorne's employ. Two-face breaks into Doubleday's office to get dirt on Thorne and has a fight with Batman outside the office. So yeah, that's where the name come from, you can look it up. Of course, Doubleday isn't the only OC in this story, but I promise the original characters have minimal roles. Or do they?


	12. Dissention

Dissention

He had a face.

More importantly, he had a name.

Standing in front of the giant supercomputer, Batman stared at a mug shot. It was from an attempted robbery and aggravated assault charge a couple of years ago. Though this picture was of a man with shaggy blond hair and a sour disposition, the vigilante recognized the face. A facial reconstruction program had created a possible model of what the man would look today, aged and shaved bald.

To the unwavering eye, they were a match.

His name was Victor Zsasz, heir to the Zsasz fortune. Turns out Zsasz did inherit that fortune a number of years ago when his parents were killed in a freak car accident. There was surprisingly little information on the crash itself, especially considering the uniqueness of the family name. As far as Batman was concerned, he was unfamiliar with the name as well and didn't recall an instance where he would've met a couple by the moniker. He was pretty sure he would've recognized it. It was likely the family was from abroad, possibly moving here, or at the very least this Victor Zsasz character.

Zsasz was an educated man, if his profile was any indication. Education at various Ivy League schools, ultimately receiving a diploma from Brown University. Never appeared in Gotham until after his parents' deaths, and then went on a spending spree. Financial records showed multiple high-priced purchases, be it houses, real estate, and cars. He preferred the night life in the streets, frequenting nightclubs and strip clubs. He was practically a less-rich Bruce Wayne, not that the dark-clad man liked the comparison.

However, Zsasz's money dried up fairly quickly once he discovered the joys of gambling. The man had lost millions at the tables over the course of a six month period, which also marked the selling of assets he had accumulated in order to feed his favorite past time.

Hmm, gambling. It was almost a shame that Huntress had cut complete ties to her family. Someone there might know of Zsasz and who he may have owed money to. It was at least worth asking her considering she was still nursing her ankle injury. It was doubtful she would actually go back to ask for information, not to mention raise suspicion towards her.

Regardless, Zsasz's money troubles had led to the robbery and assault charges. Considering Batman hadn't seen the man before their staredown in the alley, it was likely a collar made by the GCPD. The mugshot was absent of obvious injuries, though if he wasn't mistaken, there was a bloody lip present.

Harvey Dent might know more about the man. Accessing more about the case, the DA's office had been active in getting a conviction. Considering how small time Zsasz's case was though, it was likely one of Dent's assistants tried the case. Batman narrowed his eyes then. According to the report, Zsasz had taken a plea deal for three years, eligible for early release with good behavior in one and a half.

Accessing prison records then, it became apparent that Zsasz had indeed fulfilled the requirement, which in turn put him right in the streets before his alleged murder spree. Still, there were no signs of the man's potential for murder. There must have been some sort of trigger that pushed Zsasz to his new sick passion.

Unfortunately, the timeline after Zsasz had left prison had come up dry. It was like the man had vanished from public life following his incarceration. There wasn't so much as a large withdrawal from an ATM for gambling; but then, the Zsasz fortune was gone by then. It was no wonder he accepted the plea deal, he had no other choice. Paying for a very good defense attorney was clearly out of his grasp at the time.

Still, there were assets he still had. Some of the property, for one, was still in his name. A large chunk of that had been sold to clear debts and pay bills during his stent in prison, but that still left four houses to choose from.

Those were worth investigating, if only to rule them out as suspected hideouts. Typing on the keyboard, Batman sought out tax bills on the properties, anything that would indicate if the houses were in use. Waiting a couple minutes, a window appeared on screen, showing the results.

A scowl appeared on the vigilante's face. If the results were right, there were no active utility accounts for those properties. No water or electrical bills had been paid, or issued to the houses, meaning there were at the very least abandoned. All that meant was that there were no tenants. Squatters could be there at any time, including Zsasz. Physically checking out those places would have to be done.

Sucking in a deep breath, Batman let out a sigh. It wasn't often he came across such dead ends before. If none of these places checked out, that meant Zsasz was out in Gotham somewhere, which gave him a near infinite number of places to hide. Considering he was a killer, all he would have to do was find a house or apartment, kill its tenant, and use the victim's money and credit to pay for the lodging. With online accounts, paying from a computer virtually ensured no one would be of the wiser.

That also meant there was another dead body out there, unreported due to a lack of attention by loved ones, or a lack of even that.

While Batman didn't like that idea, there was currently no proof that had happened as of now. For now, he'd investigate these houses and hopefully find Zsasz at one of them. In the meantime, it was time to restrict this murderer's movement.

An anonymous call to the GCPD would take care of that.

* * *

After a long day making a living with his day job, it was time for Dick to suit up and get ready for his night job. The fun job. One that would be much more fun if he wasn't the only one doing his best to plan a bust on some diamond smuggling operation.

He was getting pumped for this. Really he was. It had been some time since their little group of vigilantes had done something big. And this one involved organized crime this time! No super secret organizations were going to be stumbled upon. All the intrigue that was a part of this had already been discovered.

Months of stake outs, following rough-looking guys around, research, and double checking was finally about to come to a head. The Batclan was about to make a bust on one of the last things you would have expected to happen in Gotham.

So then why was he the only one willing to get his hands dirty with it?

Barbara, in whose apartment he had convened them all in to plan this out, was messing with her computer. It would make a bit more sense to him if she was showing off some mad typing skills, maybe have a bunch of programs up, half of which he didn't know the names of. Instead, it looked more like she was making a half-hearted attempt at using only one program, which naturally he didn't know the name of either.

Then there was Robin who was busy being some kind of brooding, angsting teen while leaning up against the wall. On the far side of the room. If he was trying to look all stoic and cool, he was failing at it. Which was even more surprising to the now masked Nightwing.

Like him, Robin had put in the time and grunt work to get them this far. And he had been gung-ho about it too, so freaking eager to see this to the end that Nightwing at times had to hold him back. Not that the guys they were dealing with had the kind of skill to go toe-to-toe with them in a fight, they were still dangerous. This had to be done right. One mistake could cost them so much.

Now, Robin looked like he didn't want anything more to do with this. Suspect in the best case scenario, except Nightwing knew what was on the masked teen's mind. The suffering of his family was preying on him, and he was determined to right the wrong perpetrated. Robin was practically single-minded about it. It was starting to really concern the older vigilante.

Because he could understand it. More than anybody in this room could.

But it was no excuse to ignore what they were doing.

Giving a short whistle at his partner-in-justice, he said aloud, "Could really use some input over here. I was thinking we could try sneaking into one of the rooms, window naturally. Then we lay an ambush, wait for the guys to come in. While their hands are full with the diamonds, we strike, take them all out as quickly as possible before any guns are pulled out. What do you think?"

While it wasn't the first time, Nightwing felt annoyed when Robin said nothing, continuing to brood. The only thing that surprised him was the intensity. Being fully honest here, he was getting pissed off.

Glancing around, the masked vigilante spotted some computer paper nearby, lazily placed on the floor, probably by Barbara. Taking a few pages, he crumpled them into a ball and threw it at his younger cohort's head.

Bam, it bounced right off Robin's forehead and broke him out of whatever it was that was distracting him. "What the hell?!" the teen exclaimed, one customized "birdarang"—he was not letting that one die anytime soon—in one of his hand.

"Yo. Need your attention," Nightwing snarked. "Back to earth? Good. Now I need your thoughts about this."

"Sorry. Not interested," the dark-haired teen retorted, putting his explosive weapon away and resuming his "cool" pose against the wall. Wasn't leaning your back against a wall and crossing your arms in front of your chest so late 90s?

"Excuse me, I don't think I heard you. Say that again?" Behind his mask, Nightwing narrowed his eyes at the uncooperative vigilante.

"Don't play stupid," Robin snapped back. "You heard what I said and you know why I said it."

"I do," the older vigilante agreed. "But this is important. We've been working on this bust for months! It's our time now, our time to kick some organized crime ass and do some real good."

"You know what would also do some good? Finding the bastard who killed my aunt."

"Dude, if you try to look anymore angsty, you're going to give emo kids a run for their money," he said frankly. "Hell, Batman might get jealous."

"I'm serious here, Dick," Robin—no, Tim, since he brought out the real name card—argued. "The diamond stuff can wait. I need your help on this, more than you know. I need to fix this."

"I feel for you, Tim. I do," Dick tried to reassure his partner. "It can't be easy on you or your family knowing whoever killed you aunt is still out there. But we wouldn't even know the first place to start looking. Even the cops aren't having that kind of luck. I may not know a lot about murders, but I do know that random acts of violence are nearly impossible to solve. It's going to take a shit load of luck and the asshole responsible doing one stupid move to solve this. It's like your aunt was killed for no other reason than someone wanted to kill her."

"And what, let him get away?" Tim demanded, pushing away from the wall and marching up closer to the taller vigilante. "It's like you said, the cops will have to get lucky. And we can't count on the bastard slipping up. If we can't count on either of those things happening, then it's up to us to do it. What's the point of us having this stuff," he gestured towards their uniforms and gear, "if it can't help us catch some asshole with a knife?"

"All of this stuff if to help protect us from getting hurt, not find the scumbag that killed your aunt," Dick retorted. "I'm sorry, Tim, but I'm going to have to ask you drop it. You have to face the fact that there's nothing that we can do to fix this."

Tim looked like he had been punched in the face. Then, his face hardened. "I can't do that Dick. I won't. I'll find this son of a bitch, even if I have to do it alone."

Dick's eyes widened. "You can't…you can't do this, Tim. We have to stick together—"

"Why? I can't count on you to help me when I need you to the most," Tim interrupted. "You can do whatever you want with the diamonds, but me? I'm going to find a killer and put him behind bars."

"Tim!" he called out, reaching out as the costumed teen stomped his way to the nearest window. "Don't do this!"

"I have to. No one else will," Tim stated with finality and vanished out into the night.

God…goddamn it.

"You could have handled that better," Barbara remarked from where she was sitting, eyes still on the computer screen.

"You were a big help back there too," he snarked back.

"What good would it have done? He's already made up his mind," the paralyzed woman shrugged. "I don't need to be psychic to figure that out. You could have seen it in his eyes; he already decided on what he was going to do before he came here."

"Well, you could have tried to talk some sense into him," the costumed man argued.

"What's the point? It wouldn't have mattered," Barbara shrugged, her tone conveying how interested she was in this, which was not a lot in the first place.

Damn, it was all falling apart. Everything was. The Batclan...it was falling apart. Had been falling apart. Ever since Barbara's injury, and now Tim's stubbornness to track down the man responsible for his aunt's murder. They were all going their separate ways.

But that wasn't why they came together in the first place. They were supposed to watch each other's backs. Not split off or give up on this. And it wasn't like they could all go solo whenever they wanted. It didn't matter if it wasn't said, but such a thing would not be tolerated by the one guy who could get them off the streets permanently.

The Batclan had lasted this long because they were united and working together for a common goal. Having different goals or not having any interest at all had not been part of the formula here.

"Maybe you should keep an eye on him," Barbara suggested listlessly. "He might be better equipped than most people out there, but that doesn't mean he won't get himself hurt.

Dick gave her a look, but since she wasn't looking at him, it lost whatever effect it could have had. But she was right. He couldn't leave Tim out there to do whatever he wanted. In his state, he might take down the wrong guy, and then there would be an innocent man hurt at best or imprisoned and hurt at worst.

It was days like this that Dick swore that the nightlife was going to kill him.

The plans for the diamond bust were going to be put on hold. For now, at least. Right now, like he had said before, Tim needed him.

Perhaps he agreed on this point but the teen did need him more than he knew.

* * *

"There's something I need to say."

Kate was now the center of attention. She sat in one of the worn chairs, one leg crossed over the other. She hadn't bothered to change out of her office wear, mainly because now wasn't the time. There was a meeting to be had in the Birdcage and putting on her battleware put her in a much different mindset.

The meeting was supposed to be about their campaign against Thorne. It had taken some time scouring the accounting books they had obtained from Anderson Accounting, but they had made some serious headway. There were at a minimum of six businesses that were known affiliates—read: fronts—of Thorne's and the numbers were definitely eye-opening. It was a good thing Thorne didn't know where to find them because he would've blown the Birdcage sky high to make sure those books never saw the light of day.

However, Sgt. Cort's video had been gnawing at Kate for a good part of the day. She was pretty certain there wasn't any real concern to be had, but her legal mind kept picking at different angles, given further credence to Cort's theory.

"I saw a video earlier today," she started, Dinah and Katana looking at her from various places of the room. Each were sitting, the blonde woman looking to her while the Asian was busy sharpening her blade. "There was a knifing in the East End, the victim managing to get away and into a doctor's clinic."

Kate paused for a moment. "Batman came running out of the clinic moments later. The cops think he's the one who tried to kill him."

It took Dinah less than a second to reply, "There's no way."

That startled the brunette. The way the woman spoke with confidence and self-assurance was surprising. In fact, it was too resolute in her opinion. "What makes you say that?" she questioned.

"Batman doesn't kill," Diana said simply. "He'll beat them up, sure, but not once has he gone out of his way to kill someone."

"That you know of," Kate countered. "This guy could have a body count that no one knows about. There could be people out there that were framed for his crimes. I mean, he did come out of that clinic at full speed. He could have been fleeing the scene."

"With a security camera catching his every move?" the blonde woman responded, disbelief in her voice as one of her eyebrows raised up. "You're talking about a guy that barely has any actual evidence of his existence. A random photo pops up every now and then, but rarely is there actual footage of him. Someone like that doesn't leave the kind of incriminating evidence you're suggesting."

"Then how do you explain why he came running out of the clinic?"

"He could have been there first. Did you actually see him go in?" To this Kate shook her head. "So this is all circumstantial."

It surely was that. Unfortunately, there was still that shadow of doubt in her mind. "What makes you think he wouldn't attack this guy, go around back to surprise him, and finish the job."

That seemed to give Dinah pause, even though Katana continued to sharpen her sword unabated. "He's never used a knife before," she began.

"Doesn't mean he hasn't without anyone knowing."

Another pause. Then, "Have you met this guy?"

"No."

This time Dinah sighed. "If you ever had, you'd know he doesn't need a knife."

Oh, so he was that good of a fighter, huh? Well, so was Kate. In fact, she knew Dinah and Katana were no pushovers either. "So he can kill someone with his bare hands," she started to say before it occurred to her if a man could use his hands, why would he need a knife? She had to mentally shake off the thought before continuing, "the way you make it sound, it's as if you've fought him."

This time the blonde shared a look with Katana, who paused in her sharpening. "We did, before you joined us," Dinah responded, startling the brunette. "He was under a powerful hallucinogen at the time; kicked our butts without breaking a sweat. Katana even recognized his fighting style—if he had wanted to kill us, he could have."

Which meant he could turn deadly at a moment's notice. Yet, even though her legal mind automatically seized onto that last statement, the martial artist in her mind interjected just how controlled Batman would have to be to not beat someone to death. There was a war going on in Kate's mind, one that kept contradicting her every thought.

It was annoying to be honest.

The sound of chair legs scratching the floor brought Kate out of her thoughts. Dinah had shifted in her seat, causing the noise as a result. "Look, you're still new to Gotham, so you're not familiar with how things are here. Sure there's been our fair share of corruption throughout the local government, GCPD, and the countless agencies and programs designed to help the city. But if there's one person that's proven to be above all of it, it's Batman.

"Now, let's continue with how we're going to get these books on Thorne to the right people." And like that, the subject was pushed aside. Kate wasn't sure she liked that. She had met plenty of people that had been considered above reproach, only to have them fall from grace. Why should the Batman be any different? Still, Dinah was right that they had other things to work on.

There really wasn't so much an issue of who to get the accounting books to, so much as how. In Kate's mind, they could only get them to Harvey Dent. He was the only person that could use them to hurt Thorne in the worst of ways.

Unfortunately, there were laws against lawyers using stolen evidence. If there was one thing Dent had an issue with, it was using evidence that could be used against him, or worse be rendered inadmissible due to circumstances beyond his control. These books definitely fell into that category.

"There's no way we can hand them over to the GCPD," Kate immediately said. "We know Thorne has people there, so there's too big of a risk that one of his people will snatch the books right out of Evidence."

"We could go straight to Commissioner Gordon," Dinah suggested. "I'm sure he would make sure the books would go where they need to. He's willing to use evidence that Batman finds; surely he would use this."

That was a possibility and a pretty good one. Unfortunately, they didn't have the same latitude the Bat had, so there was still a chance things could go wrong.

"I still think we have to go through Dent," the brunette replied. "That's where these books are going to ultimately end up, so why beat around the bush?"

"Didn't you say Dent had reservations about stolen evidence though," the blonde woman pointed out. "What would be the point in going straight to him if he won't even touch them?"

"We just need to find a way that he would be willing to accept them," she argued in turn.

"How sure are you that we can even trust him?"

Mentally, Kate scowled. Her own damn words were being thrown right back at her and she found herself wanting to say the exact same thing Dinah had when defending the Batman. However, she was not a petty woman, so such a comeback was beneath her, no matter how good it would feel to do so.

"I guess we need to go on faith." Ugh, now that was a cheesy reply. As if good faith was anything to go on in their business.

The look on Dinah's face was incredulous, pretty much how Kate felt at suggesting it. If only there was a way to get Dent to accept it. It wasn't like he had stolen it…

Wait… _he_ hadn't stolen the books!

"De Soto!" Kate all but exclaimed, causing the other two women to jump in their respective seats. "Why didn't I think of that earlier," she grumbled more to herself before she noticed the odd stares being directed towards her.

"Mind letting the rest of the class know what you're talking about?" Dinah inquired.

"De Soto v Club Ruby," the brunette said as if it explained everything. To her it did at least, but the blank looks she received in response told her otherwise. "It's a civil case in which a truckload of evidence was either misplaced or stolen, though it was recovered later on and magically appeared in the hands of the plaintiff. It was originally ruled that the evidence was inadmissible due to it being stolen, but the plaintiff argued successfully that the evidence could be used as long as the lawyers weren't involved with the theft."

"So you're suggesting we drop the accounting books with Dent and you convince him using that legal case that he can use them?" the blonde summarized.

Kate shrugged her shoulders. "It's the best I can come up with."

There was a moment of silence before Katana spoke up for the first time. "It is an idea."

"It is," Dinah acknowledged. "But let's see if we can come up with anything else, just in case."

Though that wasn't the answer she had been hoping for, Kate was willing to let them continue brainstorming. In the meantime, she was just going to have to look up that De Soto case and make sure she had all of the specifics down.

In her mind, it was their best shot.

* * *

Bullock combed his fingers through his already messy hair, giving a large, hefty sigh while he was at it.

The overweight man swore that sometimes this job would kill him someday and it wouldn't be because he was killed in the line of duty by a perp's gun. It would be from all the reams of paperwork and investigating. If only he had known what he was in for back in the academy.

No use complaining about it now. Plus there were perks that came with the job. Like the gun. Especially the gun.

But if you didn't have a guy to shoot at, what was the point of having a gun? That was what annoyed him most about this serial killer task force. They couldn't find the guy who he could shoot at so he had to deal with all the paperwork and investigating and bleh. Christ he needed to shoot something.

If he wanted to take the easy way out, Bullock could go along with where Cort was pushing the investigation. While not the strongest piece of evidence, the CCTV footage of the Bat freak being in the same area was a victim of their killer was tempting. Very tempting.

Except their vic was still alive. Sure he was still in the ICU, but he had been okayed by the docs to answer a few questions, so long as the vic wasn't overly stressed by it. Basically, treat the schmuck like a piece of glass. Well, when he wanted to, Bullock could be gentle. He could!

What he was able to get out of this second round of questioning, was a description of the guy's attacker and man was it the furthest thing away from being the Bat freak. Just your average creep in a hoodie. Oh, and he had a knife, a big one.

So basically it could be anybody.

But see, here was where Bullock got an idea. With that footage of the Bat freak running around, it occurred to the detective that the vigilante might try and chase the perp. So a little request to get his hands on more CCTV footage in the area was made and though it took a while, he struck gold.

Sort of.

See, in the footage there was a guy who kinda sorta resembled the vic's description, what with the hoodie. The hood, though, was down, showing off a bald head. He would need to ask the vic about that next time he was able to talk with him. Other than wearing a hoodie, one thing Bullock noted was that this guy was in a hurry. A hurry from what? Practically obvious at this point.

Seeing as how they didn't have this guy dangling in front of the station "giftwrapped," that meant the Bat hadn't caught him, meaning…

It was still anybody's game now.

If only Cort could see that.

Instead of, you know, moving their investigation forward, Cort was telling any and everybody who would listen about his theories. And he was getting guys, both veteran and greenhorn, on his side. In response, there was a group of cops who were taking the other side, believing in the Bat freak's innocence. Yeah, maybe those guys were more quiet and didn't speak as much as Cort and whoever was drinking his poisoned Kool-aid up, but they were there.

That left those like Bullock in the middle, both sides urging them to pick one. Now, Bullock would do anything to nail the Bat, but it had to be done right. A witch hunt like what Cort was making was not the way.

Christ, it was becoming frustrating. Let him say, he didn't like it when something made him frustrated. People tended to get hurt when that happened.

Giving a groan, the overweight man stretched his arms and neck, trying to work some kinks out of them. Man, he hadn't worked this hard in a long time. Because he was not investigating in favor of stretching, he noticed Jim coming out from where he usually hid out. And he was heading right towards him. Been awhile since he had last talked with the com'mish, now that he thought about it.

"How's it going, Harvey?" Gordon greeted as he came to a stop near his desk.

"How do you think? Between trying to catch a ghost and Cort deciding that a vigilante's the guy responsible, it's all going just dandy," Bullock retorted.

"It's going that well, huh," Gordon grunted. "Well, maybe I can be of help."

"Oh? What's up?" The detective leaned back into his seat, not taking his eyes off the other man.

"An anonymous tip just came in. The tipster identified a guy called Victor Zsasz as a possible suspect. Ever heard of him?" the commissioner told him.

"Nope. I'd remember somebody with a name like that," Bullock replied.

"I've taken the liberty to see if we had a file on him before coming down. He's been arrested for armed robbery and assault, but other than that, nothing. See what else you can find. Maybe it's the break we've been looking for," Gordon said, handing the mentioned file over.

"Maybe, maybe not," Bullock grunted as he took a look through the file. Geez, the guy looked like your run-of-the-mill creep, and the mugshot did not make the bastard look any better. Really, there was nothing worth noting about him. Well, other than that weird-looking last name. What the hell kind of name was Zsasz? Was it really pronounced how Gordon said it? "It's probably somebody just trying to get their boyfriend in trouble. Or it's some kind of roundabout eviction scheme."

"Nonetheless, we need to look into it anyway," Gordon replied.

"I'll see if I can't get a couple boys to track down where this guy is. Hopefully this address is current." Bullock paused, frowning. "That's an upscale joint right there. Even I can't afford it, but this guy can? Looking like this? Smells fishy."

Yeah, that picture did not fit with the kind of people who lived in the area where this file said this guy lived. You had to have some cash for that kind of joint, which then begged the question why this guy was robbing people.

"Maybe you should take a look through those videos that Cort's going on about," Gordon suggested. "Maybe you'll get lucky and he might be captured on the recording."

"And that's going to need the lab geeks or whoever goes through that shit, 'cause I ain't gonna do it." Like hell was Bullock going to go through hours of footage looking for this guy, if he even was caught on camera.

"Well, you are in charge of a task force, Lieutenant. I don't think it would be too much for you to ask someone to take care of that."

Bullock glanced back up at the commissioner, raising her eyebrows. Was Gordon saying what he…oh yeah, that was something he could get behind. It was true, he was busy leading a serial killer task force, probably the only one left in charge now that his co-leader was buying into a conspiracy theory.

Which meant he had plenty of lackeys at his disposal to do all the boring work for him.

"I'll take it all into consideration. Thanks, Com'mish." He turned in his chair, going back to the file to see what else was in it.

He didn't wait or listen for anything else Gordon had to say. He was a man at work and his work was to track a sicko down. While he had his doubts that this Zsasz guy was the perp, there was still a little something that was creepy about the guy. Those sunken eyes and the way the picture of him showed them, it was like there was no life in them.

Like this guy was empty or some shit. It was a look that Bullock had seen before, and it was usually with those psychopaths they happened to deal with every once in awhile. Didn't mean this guy was one, but still…

Maybe he would move it up a bit in the line of tips they were working on. Like near the top. Who knows, maybe this tip was the thing he needed.

* * *

Author's Note: The De Soto v Club Ruby case that Kate Spenser brings up is a reference to _The Rainmaker_ , a John Grissom novel that was later made into a movie staring Matt Damon, Danny Devito, and Jon Voight. We needed a way to move the plot, of subplot, whatever it is, along and that fictional case was useful. Decided to use it in the end. So, to give credit where credit is due, neither ShadowMajin or myself, Anonymous Void, own the creative work of John Grissom or any of the material that is owned by him.


	13. From Despair to Desperation

From Despair to Desperation

In the end, Tim had called it a night early and went home. He had been hoping for some support, or at least a decision that their little group of vigilantes would redirect their energies to helping one of their own in need, but apparently he was wrong about that.

Dick hadn't backed him up and Barbara didn't do anything but mess with her computer, like she wasn't involved with any of this. Didn't those two see how important this was to him? Didn't they understand how much it would mean for them to pool their abilities together to get a killer off the streets?

Sure, they had no leads, but by now the police had to have some, and Barbara had always had a talent for getting information out of the GCPD. That made him wonder why she wasn't using that talent now. It was like whatever life and drive she had had been lost along with her legs.

And Dick. He was being such a dick! When this all started, the teen thought he had someone on his side, someone who he could count on to back him up but man was he mistaken! It was like he was given a few days to be out of it, but then he had to get back to normal so they could take on the mob!

Right. Fat chance. Like he was going to do that before catching the maniac responsible for all this.

However, no one could be mad forever. So when anger left, it was replaced by other stuff, like sadness, and maybe some irritation. Why irritation? Probably because of all the lack of support. At the very least though, if there was anyone out there who had an idea of what he was feeling, it was his parents.

It was worse for them than it was for him. Tim knew that. They, after all, had a closer relationship with his aunt than he did. If anything, his anger was more for them, because how dare some creep come out of nowhere and hurt them like this, especially by taking away someone important to them?

These would be a few of the many thoughts that ran throughout his head while he went about his day like some normal person. School was much more awkward to be at, especially after that confrontation with that Harper chick. He still felt some of the embarrassment of falsely accusing her of stealing. Being in the wrong sucked, doubly so when you knew you were in the wrong.

So after a day of pretending to be a regular guy at school, which he thought he failed epically at that, he was back at home now, trying to finish up the assignments and homework given out over the course of the day. He did this more to distract himself rather than because he had to.

It was a distraction that was to be interrupted by a knock on his bedroom door. Looking up from the textbook he was searching for answers from—ahem, reading from—he saw his dad in the doorway, lowering his arm to his side now that he had the teen's attention.

Tim grunted, giving his dad permission to do what he needed to do or say. As if understanding that, the larger, older man stepped further into the room, putting his hands into his pockets.

"I was wondering," his father spoke. "Thought you might be messing around in here. Teach me to doubt you when you say you're doing homework."

"What else do you think I do up in here?" the teen replied flippantly, returning his gaze to his textbook.

"Other things, video games, loud music, TV. Usual teenager stuff," his father shrugged. "You've been locking yourself up in here a lot lately. Your mother and I hardly see you around anymore."

Like a moody teenager would, Tim grunted again.

For a moment, his father was silent, awkwardly waiting for his son to pick up whatever threads there were of this conversation that was left or trying to figure out what else he could say. You know, lame parent tactics that they tried to make themselves seem like cool, understanding people to the younger demographic.

Then, "How're you holding up?"

"Fine, I guess," Tim answered, not bothering to look up at the older man.

"Really, because I'm getting a little concerned about you." Thanks to all the action he had been getting involved with at night, the teen could sense the man come closer. "You're quieter than usual. Don't think I haven't noticed. I'm guessing that your aunt's death hit you hard."

Tim tightened his grip on his textbook. Oh yes, great Dad. Give him a reminder why he was so "quiet."

"I didn't think you were that close to her. Shows what I know, I guess," his father continued awkwardly. "If you need to talk about it, you can, I don't know, talk with me, I guess."

Oh God, this was heartbreaking. Even now his dad was trying to be the strong one here. With his hands full with his mom, this man was trying to add him into his burden, the one thing Tim didn't want.

Who knew how much his dad could take before he broke too?

"When are they going to catch him?" Tim found himself asking, his tone of voice stony.

"Catch who?" his dad asked. Tim didn't have to look up to know the man was furrowing his brow in confusion.

"The guy who killed Aunt Kathleen. When are they going to catch him?" A little clarification was not beyond him, Tim supposed.

For another moment, his father was silent. However, this wasn't the awkward silence from before. This one was…well, it was much more…oh what was the word? It was more serious, definitely. Ominous? Nah, that couldn't be it.

"Tim? Can you look up at me?"

It wasn't the tone of voice that caused him to look up. No, it was the unexpected and uncharacteristic softness of it, something that was causing alarm bells to sound off in his head.

"I would love nothing more than for the cops to find the son of a…the person who stabbed your aunt," his father stated, dark eyes focused down on him. "Hell, if I could, I'd be out there right now trying to track him down. But I'm not a cop or whoever they have trying to find him. I wouldn't know how to start or where to begin. What I'm trying to say is…what I think we both need to be ready for is the possibility that no one is going to find out who killed Aunt Kathleen."

Tim's eyes widened. It felt like he had just taken a blow in his torso—he couldn't say if it was in his chest or stomach, it was just all over. He had never thought or considered that he would be hearing this from his dad of all people.

Because they couldn't give up! Because—because there was family involved! They had to stay united, they had to be in this together, to get justice for his mother's sister. To make sure that the bastard responsible was caught!

"You can't be serious," he spoke, his voice cracking.

"I've been giving it a lot of thought. Somebody has to. We have to be ready for anything, even if it is something we don't want. Your mother is too heartbroken to and you're just a kid. You shouldn't have to," his father continued, explaining his reasoning. "We have to consider all possibilities and get rid of those that have been proven to not be right. I still have hope that there will be justice for Kathleen, but I'm not going to stick my head in the sand either."

"Dad, you're giving up!" Tim exclaimed, pushing himself up from his seat.

"I'm not, Timothy." That certainly passed through the strong emotions he was feeling. "We have to be practical, though. One way or another, we're going to need to move past this whether or not Kathleen's killer is caught. We have to."

Tim couldn't believe this, he just couldn't! With those words, his father had confirmed his position, along with where he stood. The teenaged vigilante for once felt completely alone. It was like there was no one backing him up on this. No one he could truly depend on.

Slowly, he returned to his seat, anything else his father said going over his head. He tuned the man out, his thoughts racing miles a minute.

This was more than losing one of the last people he could count on to understand his feelings about this. It was his parents. Yes, parents plural. Because his dad would talk with his mom, and eventually, he would convince her that he was right about this and she would go along with it. First Nightwing, then Barbara, now his parents. He was alone in wanted that murdering asshole caught, wasn't he? He couldn't rely on anyone.

Tim had no idea how long it was, but his dad eventually left, giving him a pat then squeeze on his shoulder, a nonverbal "I'm here if you need me" if there ever was one. Right. He needed you now, to be as determined as he was to get some justice here!

What was he going to do? How was he going to make sure everything became right again? How could he make sure justice for his aunt, no, his family was served? Even if that family was getting ready to throw in the towel long before it was appropriate?

What was becoming clear was that he could not do this alone. He…as much as he hated to admit it, he was not an expert as hurting down killers. Stopping muggers and other criminals while they were committing their crimes? Oh yeah, that was a piece of cake. His knowledge about murders, despite his interest in it, was lacking. There was really only one time he tried and remember how that ended?

Backup he would need, because weren't two heads better than one for this kind of thing. Normally he could rely on Dick, but that wasn't the case. Not this time. Especially not after than crack about being angsty enough to give emo—or was it goth?—kids a run for their money or make Batman jealous—

His eyes widened as he sat up straight.

Of course, why hadn't he thought of that before! It was so obvious! If there was one person he could count on in this whole city to find his aunt's murderer, it would have to be none other than Batman! Yeah, Batman. The guy who had been at this longer than any other vigilante, and was sure to have picked some things up along the way.

And this wasn't about crimefighting or anything. It wasn't something that Batman was going to tell him to get off the streets for. No, this was going to be about him, Tim, going to this tall, dark, imposing figure and asking him for help.

And there was no way in the teen's mind that he was going to be turned down.

Now, how to find him…

* * *

Bruce was trying to leave, really, truly, he was. However, running a multi-billion dollar corporation tended to make that task difficult, especially at the end of the day.

The billionaire had always made it a point to leave the company at an obscenely early hour when he had important matters relating to his vigilante work. That was in part to avoid the last hour of last minute proposals and issues that needed to be resolved that tended to be slapped onto his desk before he could think of walking out the door. Part of it was certain managers hoping to have him rubberstamp whatever pet project they were running, others were board members wanting the company to go in direction they felt more advantageous, and more were just trivial things that could wait forever to be addressed.

Despite his reputation, Bruce made it a point to know what he was signing his signature to. No way would he be responsible for the clear-cutting of a thousand acres of rainforest again. That had been a public relations firestorm and the result his absently signing the proposal while he had his mind on other things.

Some days he wished he had installed an elevator in his office so he could come and go without anyone being the wiser.

"Bruce! I'm so glad I caught you," Lucius called out him as the dark-haired man stood in front of the elevators. "There's something I have to show you."

 _Private elevator is really looking good right now…_

"Can this not wait until tomorrow," Bruce half-whined, giving the dark-skinned man a pitiful look. "My fingers are aching and I think I'm starting to come down with a case of carpal tunnel."

"Don't worry, Bruce," Lucius assured him, a dinging sound being made before the elevator doors slid open. "This will only take a moment, no paperwork to be had."

Entering the elevator, the doors sliding closed behind them, the dark-haired man grumbled, "It better be only a moment."

Hitting one of the buttons, Lucius merely smiled at his sulkiness. "Trust me, this is going to be worth your time."

Moments later the elevator slowed to a stop, the doors sliding open again. In its place was a small lobby that led into a hallway. Making their way into the hall, Lucius led Bruce to a door at the very end, where he pushed in a code onto a keypad. Locks could be heard audibly opening and the older man opened the door.

Stepping in, the first thing Bruce saw was a large computer screen. It wasn't as big as the one in the cave, but it was considerably large. On the screen was a digital map of the U.S., particularly the Northeastern area. Small triangles were lined up, forming lines that went up and down the coast and even into the mainland.

"Allow me to introduce the results of a three year project," Lucius proclaimed. "As you're quite aware, Wayne Aquatics is one of the leading research institutions that tracks marine migratory patterns. It was one of the first users of tracking devices that are commonly used to follow whale and shark migration."

"I think I recall us doing that type of researching," Bruce lazily replied, clearly showing his disinterest.

"Then I hope you recall this little project we started up. The basis is of predicting current and future migratory patterns using advanced mathematical equations so advanced it'll make Stephen Hawking's head explode."

That caused Bruce to raise an eyebrow. "That's a pretty tall claim."

"But I don't use it lightly," Lucius returned good-naturedly.

"So what are we tracking?"

"Bull sharks."

Well, if that wasn't dull. Bruce had been expecting something more exotic, like a Humpback whale, or at least a Great White. Bull sharks were boring in comparison. "How exciting," he drolled.

Lucius ignored, or didn't catch his flippant response, most likely the former. Instead he tapped a few keys, which caused the map on the computer screen to zoom in on the U.S. mainland. "As you probably know, Bull sharks are able to survive in freshwater as well as saltwater. There have been reports of these sharks swimming up rivers and being spotted in lakes. Using this program, we're able to predict where these creatures may, if not will, appear." Waving his hand up to the screen, he continued, "As you can see, we can expect to find some around Philadelphia in the near future."

Fascinating, it really was. If it had been any other time, Bruce would've said as much. Unfortunately, there was nothing more he wanted to do than to get out of here. He didn't care what it took, so long as he was out of the doors in two minutes. "I'm glad we're making progress here," the young man said as he began to edge his way towards the door.

"Just imagine the possibilities," Lucius said, oblivious to the dark-haired man's slow escape. "While the Bull shark is our current templet, we could potentially expand it to other animals. Birds, mammals, other marine life."

"Humans," Bruce joked.

"Even them."

That caused Bruce to pause. While it was possible Lucius was being optimistic, being able to track people was a slippery slope. Stalkers could use the program to stalk from afar, governments would attempt to use it for surveillance—it was endless.

Yet, it could also track gang movements for the police, patterns in how traffickers snuck their products into the city…or even discover the dumping patterns of a serial killer.

"Is this the only place we're running this program?" Bruce suddenly asked, inching his way closer to the computer.

"It is." Lucius turned around to face the younger man. "So, what do you think?"

"I think we have something special here."

He got a smile in return. "That's what I thought you'd say."

* * *

The day had been long for Kirk. Between trying to do his work, working with the research team, and deal with the looks Francine was giving him all day, this had been a very stress-inducing day.

Kirk still felt the excitement of the team when their tests with the rats were coming out positive. The rodents were responding to the auditory stimuli, and that jumpstarted a lot of energy into the researchers. Because he had noticed this earlier, Kirk wasn't as giddy as the rest of them, but he still felt some pride about it.

It caused him to appear a bit aloof as he stood away from the others, watching them instead of being a part of them. It was definitely something that Francine had noticed, her own excitement noticeably decreasing as she kept her eye on him.

The scientist still had his memories of the night before. The nightmarish visions of the lab rats being small, terrifying looking creatures and then… Still, none of them were those creatures here now. Maybe it was a temporary side effect? One that happened once, hopefully? If so, he would need to have the others around for the next trial to bear witness to and record these changes.

In the meantime, he was taking a closer look at the serum they had developed, and he really did mean closer look. Their computer simulations had missed something, that much was clear. The molecular structure should hold some answers. A simple request for some blood test to look for other side effects was more than reasonable.

A drug had yet to be invented that did not have any side effects. They needed to have all bases covered before requesting human subjects, his secret experimentation on himself known only to him. They had past examples of when such efforts were not done.

Though he was the man in charge of this project, that didn't mean he was completely capable leading his team of researchers wherever he wanted. Kirk was a leader in name only; he tended to rely more on Francine to keep everyone working towards their ultimate goal. This time, he would have to really take charge and actively direct the team's energies and resources.

His own social awkwardness did not help and only added more to his stress.

It was in the middle of the afternoon when he had taken a washroom break that he noticed a very concerning sign. After washing his hands, the researcher had been in the middle of drying them off when he had noticed long hairs sprouting from the back of his hands. His break had lasted much longer as he sought to gain control of himself as well as try to hide this.

Turns out hiding hair on the back on his hands wasn't too difficult. It still didn't make him feel relaxed.

For the rest of the day, he felt a warm heat in the middle of his body slowly grow. There were times where it could be ignored, but then he would be reminded of it and dismayed by how much more intense it had becoming.

With that came growing fears that maybe that transformation wasn't a onetime thing.

There was some relief when the end of the day came. Though still amped up by the morning results, and it was later than usual, the team was still willing to call it a day and trickle out of the labs. That meant there were fewer prying eyes to notice the small changes in the scientist, changes he had taken great pains to hide.

There was one pair of eyes that he had to make a deliberate attempt to hide from. While a stronger man would have stayed where he was and ignored them, Kirk was not a strong man. He went out of his way to avoid Francine, especially in the later part of the day. He had all but vanished as the team began to pack up, hoping that his wife would go on ahead. It wouldn't be the first time. To hopefully make sure that that happened, he passed along word that he was going to stay a little bit later and finish up a few things first.

By doing that, he found himself further and further isolated, and as if related, the changes he was experiencing were growing more and more noticeable. His fingers were longer now, about an inch by his estimate. His facial hair was showing signs of abnormal growth primarily along the sides of his face and around his chin. His lab coat was beginning to feel tighter too, a sign that he was expanding.

All that did was make him even more stressed than he was.

This was not good. Bad didn't even come close to describing it. He...he needed to find out what was going on. So he did the only thing he could come up with.

After making sure no one was around, and finding confirmation that Francine had left via a note she left by his primary workstation, he drew some blood and prepared to have it analyzed. With the kind of changes occurring to him, there had to be a sign of something in his bloodstream. He did know what he would find, even as he placed a drop of blood onto a glass blood slide.

Using a spreader slide, he spread the drop out. Then he added the stain to it. That way he'd be able to tease out what were red blood cells, white blood cells, and the platelet abnormalities that he believed were in there. Okay, now he would need to wait then he could—

It felt like his whole body thumped. That was the best way to describe it. The warmth he had been feeling throughout the day was peaking, no not peaking. It was still growing stronger and it was spreading into his arms and legs now.

Oh God. Was it…happening again? No, not now. Not when he still needed to…

Kirk clinched his teeth together as his body spasmed momentarily. A beastly growl escaped, causing him to freeze up at it. No, Kirk, you can't let this happen. You need to…you need…

His skin was beginning to crawl, and an insatiable urge to scratch an itch almost took over him. Damn it, Kirk. No. You needed to get control over this. You need to…

Opening eyes that he was unaware he had closed, the changing researcher realized that he was still in the lab, surrounded by all his work. None of it could be afforded to be lost, and it certainly would be if he didn't get control of this thing now. He needed to get out of here, to preserve it.

Maybe getting some fresh air would help too. It was getting cooler out there. Hopefully doing that would give him something to focus on that would give him the control he sought.

For the second day in a row, he fled the building. This time, however, he did not go into the parking garage, instead choosing to go out into the streets. Yes, a combination of walking and fresh air should do the trick. He'd go for as long as he needed then return. That was the plan.

Kirk tried his best to ignore the growing heat within, which contrary to his logic was becoming stronger with every step he took. No matter, he would keep going.

There was no other choice in the matter.

* * *

As night fell over the city, Tim Drake had made his preparations. That included given his dad a bogus story about going to bed early. After that was sneaking out and heading for that container where his uniform was kept.

Once he had don on his domino mask, it was time for Robin to go on the hunt.

Which was easier said than done. Now, he knew he had planned on finding Batman to ask for help. It turns out the hardest part of that statement was the finding bit. Where the hell did he start? Did Batman, like, have a flight pattern or something?

Well, there was one place perhaps.

The last time he has tried this, it had backfired badly. But what other choice did he have?

A little thinking showed some different options. So he made his way towards the only part in the city that had the greatest possibility of crossing Batman's path. That place was the GCPD.

Yeah, the signal again.

However, he was not going to wait around for someone to show up this time, oh no. No, he was going to put some distance between himself and the signal, then wait for any passing vigilantes to show up. Worse case scenario, the cops showed up and turned it off. At the very least he wouldn't be a sitting duck.

So he spent the first hour of his night heading to his destination, amped up with anticipation. The teen vigilante might have even been trembling with excitement had he not been running across and leaping off rooftops during this nighttime trek. As he was reaching the neighborhood where police HQ was, it seemed like fate decided to be nice to him.

It had been a flash of purple that had caught his eye. Should have been no biggie, except his gut told him to get a closer look. A good thing he had a small pair of binoculars on him, because that meant he didn't have to waste any time taking a detour. Crouching low and adjusting the focus on the far-seeing instrument, he searched for that flash of purple again.

For a moment he found nothing, which only made him more irritated than he already was thanks to homelife now. Right, this was such a great time to start seeing things and—wait, what was that. Robin's brow creased as turned his head slight back and—there! Right there!

The purple he had seen earlier, he had found it. Zoom in a bit and…that was a cape. A purple cape that he saw was connected to a person, no, a woman. In about a second, the masked teen recognized who he had spotted, and he nearly groaned aloud.

It was only Huntress, another of Gotham's vigilantes. So the Birds of Prey were nearby. He wondered for a moment what they were doing in these parts. Probably another bust or something. Odds were the older vigilante was waiting up for the rest of her team to show up so they could either plan or go straight into action. While he would like to stick around and watch, he had more important things to do.

Hold on a sec. Now Robin was glad he hadn't lowered his binoculars yet because there was more movement on the rooftop. Contrary to his expectations, what he found wasn't one of the other Birds. This person was hard to make out, what with the all black costume that looked very, very familiar. In fact, it kinda looked like…Barbara's uniform.

No, it was her. That girl! The one that Barbara let put on her uniform that she no longer had any ability to use anymore. The one that had helped him and Dick during that alien invasion. What was she doing with Huntress? It had been a long time since he had seen her and…

Oh.

Well.

As if emerging from the shadows themselves, a very tall and dark figured came into sight, but Robin didn't have to stop and think about who it was. He already knew.

Wow, what a lucky break. Thanks to an innocent bit of purple, he didn't need to put his plan into action. Swiftly lowering and placing his binoculars back into his belt, he retrieved a grappling hook and fired away. There was no telling how long his quarry was going to remain where he was and damn it, Robin could not let this opportunity go to waste! This might be his only chance to talk with Batman without risking exposing himself to the cops or anybody else out there.

He was painfully aware of time now as he swung and pulled himself onto the roof of a building and sprinting across it to leap over to the next. Each second seemed to match up with his heartbeat. A voice urged him to move faster and faster, even as he fired his hook again to pull himself up to the next roof.

It was an all out mad dash and climb to this destination, one that was as permanent as a mirage. There was no telling how long the trio he had spotted and spied out would be where they were. If he didn't hurry, they'd be gone and he'd have to use drastic measures once more, i.e. that sneaking back over to the GCPD bit.

As he was pulling himself over the ledge of another building, he abruptly found himself being helped out for a second as he was grabbed then slammed down on his back. A whoosh of air escaped his lungs, and then sucking it back in became harder as a hand gripped his throat very tightly.

Robin blinked owlishly up to the person that hovered over him. Immediately he recognized the Batgirl uniform and put two and two together…only to get five because there had been a couple changes to the outfit now that he was up close and personal with it. The big one was a black material covering the mouth region, which he was sure hadn't been there the last time he had seen it.

"Hey?" he choked out, unable to think of anything else to do.

"It's one of the kiddies. Let him go," he heard Huntress call out.

He could feel the costumed girl above him pause, as if thinking over what the other vigilante said, before releasing him and letting sweet, sweet air into his body. Wow, he literally hadn't been breathing for the last twenty seconds or so.

Coughing, Robin slowly pushed himself up, a hand rubbing at his neck. "Remind me not to sneak up on you," he rasped out at whom he assumed also called herself Batgirl, because the costume.

No answer, just a silent stare was all he received.

Footsteps alerted him to the approach of one of the other vigilantes. "Where's the other two?" Huntress' voice questioned, the vigilante teen looking up to her as she spoke.

"On my own tonight," he found himself answering. Wait, why was he talking with her? Yeah, she kinda sounded like one of his teachers from the way she had asked her question, but he shouldn't have been so quick to answer her.

"Bad idea, kid. Get back to the rest of your clan," the older, masked woman ordered.

"Not yet," he responded.

"That right? Kid, you might think you can take on the world, but you're far from ready to do a solo act," Huntress stated mercilessly. "For your own safety, go back to your Mickey Bat Club or whatever you three call yourselves."

"Not for this. The others…they won't help me."

"Won't help you? With what?" No, there was no genuine curiosity in those questions. The female vigilante sounded more irritated than concerned.

"It's something I can only ask of Batman," he answered, nodding his head in the general direction of the man in question. "There's no one else I can turn to who can help me. Who would be able to help me," he amended. "I just need a minute, that's all."

Huntress huffed, looking away from. Then, turning slightly, she called out, "What do you think?"

The immediate response was silence. Robin's heart was pounding in his chest and he waited for whatever verdict the legend himself would lay down. He needed a yes so much right now. The emotional teen didn't know what he'd do if the answer wasn't a yes.

"You have one minute."

It took Robin several seconds to grasp what he had heard. In those seconds, there was surprise due to a part of him being uncertain of whether or not _the_ Batman would even heard him out. There was also a little shock as that part of him was proven wrong, followed by a daze that then snapped into excitement.

Then he remembered he was on the clock. As of now he had less than a minute.

"A few nights ago, my aunt was murdered," he began. "The cops are saying—"

"You're too close to it. Drop it and go home," Batman interrupted him.

It was like getting a slap to the face. Here he was, taking the time to ask for help and now he was being told to drop it? Oh, he was starting to feel angry, but he also recognized that this was the last person to get angry at. Robin couldn't afford to get angry at Batman of all people.

"Then would you find who killed her?" he practically begged. "It's tearing my parents apart and…and they need this more than I do. They need to know who killed her, so please, _please_ , would help me find who murdered my aunt?"

There was no reply from Batman, and now the masked teen was becoming desperate.

"I get it. I know that I'm too close to it. Maybe that's why whenever I try, I get stuck and I can't figure out where else I can go with it," Robin pressed on. "My…partners aren't ready to handle this kind of thing… I don't think either of them are in the right place either. But they aren't the ones who go home and see how this shit is affecting my mom, my dad. I can't stand watching what this is doing to them and…and I need to do something because nobody else will! And you're the only one I can turn to now. So please. Please help me."

Robin didn't know if his minute was up at this point, but right now he didn't care. He didn't care that he had just bared his soul to the man that had inspired him to take up nighttime vigilantism, or that there were girls here to see him not as a strong man, but as some weak kid in over his head.

At this point, he'd give up anything to see justice done.

"What is your aunt's name?"

Robin hadn't known when he had lowered his head, but he became perfectly aware that he had when he snapped it upwards to look up at the Dark Knight himself. Blank, white lens bored down at him, waiting for an answer.

"Her name's Kathleen Turner," he said.

"I'm not promising you anything, but I will look into it. You go home and stay there. You're more a danger to yourself now than you would be to others. I'm not going to tell you again," Batman stated. "Don't think I won't take you down if I have to."

Robin nodded his head. Okay, this was good. And the whole "go home" part was not something he was surprised about. It was no secret to him that the older man didn't want him on the streets, even though there was no doubt in Robin's mind that this was the same man who had made his current outfit for him.

"You'll let me know when you catch him, right?" he asked, his voice almost cracking.

"I make no promises," Batman said as he turned around and began to leave.

Batgirl followed after him. Huntress gave him an unreadable look before leaving herself, not even saying a parting line of her own. Soon, Robin was by his lonesome, still in the same spot where he had presented his case.

He knew he should do what he was told and go home. Yet, he couldn't help but wonder where those three were going? And why they were together in the first place. Outside of an exception or two, Batman only worked alone. So what were this new Batgirl and Huntress doing with him?

Turning to head in the other direction, he paused and looked over his shoulder to where he had last seen the trio.

Was he really considering this?


	14. Zsasz

Zsasz

The apartment was dark. Silently, Batman drifted away from the open window he had jimmied and made his way to a wide open door. The room itself was filled with boxes and junk—a storage room for the owner.

Peering out through the doorway, the Dark Knight found a short hallway that opened up into another room, this one filled with exercise equipment. Passing by a treadmill and a stationary bike, the vigilante made sure not to make a sound. There was no telling if someone was here just because the lights were off. There had to be a bedroom somewhere.

There was a strong odor in the air, as if someone had sprayed a lot of air freshener when they had cleaned the room. It smelled of pine, not exactly his favorite scent. Gazing around the room once more, the dark-clad man found nothing out of place, nothing that would set off his internal alarms.

The main reason he was here was because this was a possible location of Zsasz. Following his meeting with Lucius Fox, he had lifted a copy of the bull shark tracking program. It was a beta version, so there were some bugs in it, but it was easier to pick up than downloading a copy onto a flash drive. That would've taken a lot of time and if one of his employees spotted him, there would have been some uncomfortable questions.

After loading the program onto the supercomputer in the cave, Batman had imputed every location of Zsasz's killing spree. It had taken awhile, but three results had been given. A lot of variables had been added in, such as potential times of attack, how long it took the victims to arrive at that location from the last time they had been seen alive, and proximity of each location to each crime scene.

This was the first place. It was an apartment belonging to a Jesus Gomez. The lease was current, so Gomez was still living here. Batman, however, wouldn't be satisfied unless he checked the place out. While there was a strong likelihood that Gomez was here, it was also possible that was an alias, or he was a partner-in-crime with Zsasz.

He'd be finding out what the situation was momentarily.

Finding another hallway, Batman entered it, eyeing the picture frames on the wall. They were of a Hispanic man with friends and family members. Didn't look like Mr. Gomez had a family of his own.

Walking by a door, Batman's face twisted in displeasure. That pine smell, it was even stronger here. Glancing at the closed door, the vigilante found himself reaching for the doorknob and slowly turning it. Carefully, he pushed the door end, coming to an immediate stop.

Hanging from the roof by long strings were countless numbers of pine tree air fresheners. No wonder the stench was so strong.

However, the Dark Knight's attention immediately focused on the bathtub situated along the far wall. Lying in it was the reason for so many air fresheners: Jesus Gomez's body. He was lying in the tub as if he were taking a bath, head tilted to a side with an air resting on the side of the porcelain. The body was decomposing and had been for weeks easily. Faintly, the dark-clad man picked up the scent of rotting flesh, even through the overpowering pine smell. Separate, both were repugnant, but together they were gut-churningly sickening.

Zsasz had clearly been here.

Pulling out of the bathroom, Batman headed down the hall quickly, yet quietly. He needed to get away from the smell before he vomited. In fact, getting out into the night air would do him just—

Once more the vigilante came to a stop at the end of the corridor. The room before him was of a living room, one with a couch, coffee table, and a small table with a lamp on it. Off to his right was a television and stand, though neither was on.

More importantly, there was Zsasz seated on the couch, a can of cooked beans in one hand, a spoon of beans in the other. Zsasz had paused in mid-scoop, the spoon hovering in front of his open mouth as his eyes stared right back at Batman.

For several moments, the two men just stared at each other, neither moving an inch, much less breathing. It was as if time had frozen for them.

And then Zsasz moved, hurling the bean can at the vigilante. Side-stepping it, Batman lunged forward only to stop as soon as he began. Zsasz had snatched a large kitchen knife off the coffee table and held it in front of him, ready to strike at a moment's noticed. The bald man had moved around the table, coming to stand mere feet away from the vigilante.

Lightning fast, the serial killer thrusted the knife at Batman, causing him to jerk away from the stab. Repeatedly, Zsasz jabbed the blade at him, until the dark-clad man found himself reaching a wall. Zsasz's eyes lit up predatorily having cornered his prey.

Except, he was forgetting who he was attacking.

Lunging again, the bald man tried to stab Batman, only for the vigilante to dart to a side, both of his hands shooting up. One hand grabbed onto Zsasz's wrist, the other gripping the arm just above the elbow. Using Zsasz's momentum against him, the Dark Knight hyperextended the arm and forced the murderer to slam into the wall. A startled cry left his lips, only to change to one of pain as Batman bashed his extended arm against the sheetrock in an attempt to disarm him.

Using his free hand, Zsasz pushed it against the wall, forcing his body away from it. Quickly, he spun inward until his back pressed against the wall, his knife arm crossed over his chest. Sloppily, he threw a punch at the dark-clad man, causing him to back away to avoid the hit and subsequently let go of Zsasz's arm.

Immediately, the bald man swung his arm, slicing the air with his knife as he attempted to slash the vigilante. Again, Batman backed up a step, doing it again and again as Zsasz pressed the attack, slashing his knife from side to side over and over.

That was until Batman shot his arm up, blocking the next cut with his triangle blades. Jerking his other arm up, he swung it down on top of Zsasz's arm right at the elbow, causing it to buckle. Stepping in, Batman bent his own elbow and rammed it into the serial killer's face, causing him to cry out in pain.

In an instant, the vigilante turned to face the man, both of his hands grabbing onto Zsasz's shirt. Twisting his body around, he hauled his opponent off the floor and sent him flying through the air, Zsasz letting out a surprised scream before he landed roughly on the floor. His landing made him lose his grip on the knife, the weapon skidding across the floor and out of reach.

"Victor Zsasz," Batman growled lowly. "I'm placing you under arrest. You can either surrender yourself now, or surrender with a broken arm and leg. Your choice."

Zsasz peered over his shoulder, looking to the looming Dark Knight for a single second. The bald man then pushed himself onto his hands and knees before scrambling into a nearby hallway. Immediately, Batman was after him, rushing into the corridor.

The first thing he saw a door, one that he ran headfirst into. It didn't stop him as it swung away, slamming shut in a doorframe. Zsasz must have opened it, hoping it would prove to be an effective obstacle. Admittedly it slowed him down a step, but it didn't stop him from seeing the man yanking a door open and disappearing behind it.

Charging, Batman reached it and pulled it to a side, revealing a hallway with more apartment doors. As luck would have it, Zsasz was jumping into the open doors of an elevator just a door down. Rushing towards it, he reached a hand out only for the elevator doors to slide shut just before he arrived. The vigilante's outstretched arm immediately moved to brace up against the doors to prevent him from slamming into them.

Growling, the Dark Knight jerked his head from side to side, noting a small sign hanging from the ceiling that indicated a stairwell. Moving to it, he reached a door that he flung open, entering a stairwell the circled around the shaft from floor to ceiling. This allowed for a straight drop right in the middle.

Pulling out his grapple, Batman fired it at the railing of a set of stairs above him, hearing the grapple claw gripping onto its target a moment later. Jumping off the landing, he hit the release button and the grapple quickly extended the length of the cable, the dark-clad man descending down towards the floor below.

When his boots touched the floor, he hit the button for the grapple claw to release its hold and then retracted the line, the cable disappearing within the grapple gun until the claw reached the end of the barrel. Placing the grapple back onto his belt, he stormed to the exit and shoved the door open, entering the lobby.

It seemed his timing was pretty good too as he caught sight of Zsasz reaching the front door, blasting through it without any regard for whoever was on the other side. Taking off, Batman ran for the slowly closing door, cape billowing behind him. He pushed the door open when he reached it, exploding into the night air and the sight of a semi-busy street. Cars were blaring their horns as Zsasz darted through traffic, reaching the other side of the street and heading for the entrance of a subway station.

Seeing as traffic had slowed for the fleeing man's escape, Batman rushed out onto the pavement, causing the cars to goose as the drivers started to press on the accelerator pedal only to immediately hit their breaks. Reaching the other side of the street, he ran to the subway entrance and leaped down the stairs two to three at a time.

Zsasz would not be escaping him.

* * *

A sharp whistle caught Bullock's attention, causing the lieutenant to look up from the report he was looking over. Oh shit, the world looked a bit blurry there. How long had he been reading again? Too long from the look of it.

Whoever invented reading deserved to be shot.

Then everything clear up and wow, there was a sight for sore eyes.

"I've never seen you this busy before," Detective Renee Montoya commented, a cup of coffee in one hand. That thing was steaming, meaning there was a fresh pot made. "Should I be amazed or worried that you've been replaced with a hard-working fake?"

"If you call that a sense of humor, Rook, you're gonna need a better one," he retorted. "Please tell me that's for me." Bullock's eyes were trained on the steaming cup, ignoring the gorgeous woman attached to it.

"This one's mine, Harvey. I don't get you your coffee anymore, remember," the woman who would always be a rookie to him replied. Then to rub salt into the wound, she took a sip. "But someone just made some. Better hurry if you want any of it."

"I don't remember this kind of attitude when you use to be my rook, Rook," Bullock stated, doing his best not to sound like he was whining. Because he wasn't, and anybody who said he was would be getting shot.

"I've always had this attitude, lieutenant. I've been raised to respect those in authority, which is the only reason why I put up with being your partner for so long," Montoya said. "By the way, how's working with Cort?"

There was no need to answer that. Only a look was needed.

"That bad?" Montoya asked, raising one of those fine-looking eyebrows of hers.

"He's a good cop but a pain in the ass to work with. And deal with," Bullock added after a second. "Before you ask, he's out chasing a couple of leads and no, he didn't want me with him."

"Any clues or suspects?" was the next question.

Though it wasn't…what was that word again? Oh yeah, protocol. It wasn't protocol, but something like that would never prevent the overweight lieutenant from discussing the facts of a case with a colleague.

"The most recent one was on a guy named…uhh, how the hell do you pronounce this? Za-sas-zee? Who the hell has a weird name like that? Anyway, just this guy. So far haven't found much on him and his record's not really the kind that tells ya you're dealing with some murdering son of a bitch." Bullock raised a hand up the scratch the back of his year. "The Com'mish thinks there might be something, so that's the only reason why I'm looking into him."

"The Commissioner? He might have a reason for it," Montoya commented. "Whatever tips he passes along tend to lead somewhere, and a lot of the time they're spot on."

"Yeah, they are," came his agreement, though his tone of voice didn't reflect any confidence. Bullock had his suspicions about where those tips came from, and anonymous were not what they were.

A sharp sound cut off his thoughts and directed his attention towards the radio that Montoya had attached to her belt.

 _All units, all units, there are reports of a Batman sighting on Terrace Street and heading north. I repeat, Terrace Street and heading north. All available units report to Terrace street immediately. The Batman has been sighted. I repeat, the Batman has been sighted._

It was a good thing Bullock hadn't been drinking because he would have spit whatever it was out. Shit, someone, no, a bunch of people were calling in a Bat freak sighting? Well, if this wasn't a nice distraction.

While he was suppose to be working on this task force stuff, there were still those official standby orders to try and nab that Bat whenever possible. And lately, with Cort getting involved with a lot of anti-Batman cops, there were going to be quite a few of them who would be dropping what they were doing to get in on this chase.

"Yo, Rook, mind me hitchin' a ride with you?" he said suddenly, looking straight up at Montoya.

"Why?" Montoya asked, frowning. "Aren't you suppose to be—"

"It can wait a couple hours. Somebody needs to be out there to make sure no one caps the Bat," he interrupted. "There needs to be someone who will put the cuffs on him and bring him in alive. You trust any of the other cops not to shoot on sight?"

Montoya stared at him for a moment before saying, "I'll drive."

* * *

Graffiti and poster-covered walls blurred around Batman as he raced through the corridor. People were pressing themselves against the tile walls and cement floor, trying to stay out of the way of the two men running through the crowd. Zsasz was up ahead, screaming at the people in front of him as he pushed and shoved others out of his way. Anyone he knocked down just happened to roll into the vigilante's path, causing him to leap over them to avoid stepping on them.

Zsasz suddenly began descending from view, the ground seeming to swallow him up. The bald man must have been hurrying down a set of stairs. Keeping up his pace, Batman soon saw the staircase, noting there were two sets with a landing in the middle. Along the roof were thin pipes that crossed from one wall to the other.

Not slowing down his pace, Batman leaped off the top of the stairs, soaring through the air until he landed on the landing. His legs bending at the knee as he absorbed the shock from his landing, the dark-clad man pushed off the landing and once more launched himself into the air. This time, however, he grabbed onto one of the pipes hanging from the roof. Using his momentum, he swung his legs forward and let go of the pipe, sailing through the air until he landed at the bottom of the staircase.

His stunt had paid dividends, it seemed. Zsasz was no more than several feet in from of him, just now picking up his pace after being slowed by the stairs. Hearing the Dark Knight's landing, the bald man peered over his shoulder, a look of fear etching itself on his face. It was only a moment as Zsasz returned his attention to in front of him, screaming, "Get out of my way!"

In an instant, Batman was hot on his heels, closing the distance between them. Arms pumping at his sides, feet pounding on the floor, the vigilante was determined not to let this man escape him.

Meanwhile, Zsasz was once more shoving and throwing people behind him in his wake, hoping to slow the dark-clad man down. Fortunately, most people were keeping away, watching the spectacle unfold in front of them.

That is, except for one dark-skinned woman.

She was young and dressed well from what Batman could see. She was also frozen still right in front of the charging Zsasz. Unfortunately, the killer didn't try to avoid her, or push her to a side like he had done to the others before him. Instead he ran right into the girl, swinging around her and holding her between him and the vigilante. In response, Batman slowed down too.

By the time he had come to a stop, a flash of metal gleamed in the light of the subway station. A panicked cry rang out from the young woman's lips as a knife was pressed against her neck, Zsasz's other arm crossing over her chest as his hand grabbed tightly onto her shoulder. "Shut up," he snarled at her, which caused the woman to quiet down to a whimper.

"Stay right where you are, Batman," Zsasz then directed to the Dark Knight. "Take another step and I slice the pretty little neck of this zombie."

Batman's eyes narrowed as his face become a stony scowl. "Put the knife down and let her go," he growled lowly, his cape slowly sliding over his body, and subsequently cover his arms.

"Keep your hands where I can see them!" Zsasz demanded, pressing his knife harder against the woman's throat, causing her head to tilt back as she tried to avoid being cut. "You hide your hands and I'll spray her blood all over you!"

Instantly, Batman held his hands out, keeping them low and relaxed. This man was cornered and he was acting like any cornered prey would. If he didn't handle this confrontation correctly, there would be another victim to this serial killer's rampage.

"You can't escape," the Dark Knight spoke them. "There's no place in this city where I can't find you. The blood of ten people are on your hands and you _will_ answer for every single one of them."

A frown appeared on Zsasz's face. "Ten?" he repeated. "You think I've only slain ten?" His face then twisted with glee as he let out a raucous laugh. "You have _no_ clue how many zombies I've liberated!"

Batman had to fight to hold back the snarl that was working onto his face. Zombies, liberated, there was something wrong with the way Zsasz was talking. It was clear that he didn't see people as individuals, instead he referred to them as monsters. Liberating was just a euphemism for killing, nothing more. However, if Zsasz's behavior was any indication, ten was nowhere near the correct body count.

It was then Zsasz moved his knife hand only to grab the sleeve of his hoodie. Yanking it down to expose his forearm, he quickly placed the knife back against the woman's neck. "Do you see these marks?" he called out.

Indeed he did. There were tally marks randomly placed on the bald man's arm. A sickening feeling began to well up in Batman's stomach as he began to suspect what they represented.

"Each mark represents a zombie that I have saved," Zsasz explained. "There is pain and suffering all around us, Batman. You know this just as I do. Toiling at their 8-5 jobs, living a rat race of doomed futures, each and every one of these zombies are just alive. They aren't truly living and each day they are on this earth is just another day of agony for them. That's where I come in. I release them from their suffering."

That was when Batman realized just where that random drop of blood of each crime scene came into play. After killing his victim, Zsasz would cut into his own flesh another tally mark, either unaware of the blood that fell off, or reveling in its release. It was common for serial killers to collect trophies from their victims; this was Zsasz's version of a trophy.

And a sickening one at that.

However, Zsasz wasn't through with his explanation. Keeping his knife against the terrified woman's throat, he let go of her shoulder and moved out from behind his hostage. With his free hand, he grabbed the bottom of his hoodie and yanked it up to reveal his torso.

If seeing Zsasz's arm was bad, the number of tally marks covering his abdomen and chest was revolting. There wasn't a single patch of skin that wasn't marked. Batman tried to count, but lost count every time. There was just no way to determine how many people Zsasz had slain.

The very thought made Batman see red.

In an instant, Batman pulled out a bat-shaped shuriken and held it up, ready to throw it at a moment's notice. Zsasz, in the meantime, had retreated behind his hostage once more, his evil-filled eyes peering out from behind her shoulder. At that moment, a subway train came racing by, not bothering to stop. The window created by the racing train battered at their bodies, Batman's cape billowing behind him, the same of Zsasz's coat.

"Drop it!" Zsasz demanded once the subway was gone and he could be clearly heard. "Drop your weapon, or I cut this zombie's head clear off her shoulders! Do it now!"

Batman held tightly to his shuriken. On the one hand, if he dropped it, Zsasz was free to kill his hostage without anything to stop him. On the other, Zsasz could cut the woman's throat long before the shuriken reached him. It was a lose-lose situation and one of the outcomes forced the worst case scenario to happen.

It also didn't help that there was an audience. While many of the subway crowd had fled when Zsasz and him first stormed the station, there were still plenty that were watching. Many even had their cell phones up, recording the encounter. No doubt this was going onto the multitude of social media websites within the hour. The last thing anyone needed was to see a woman being killed and then her death being broadcasted into all corners of the internet.

Damn it all.

His fingers loosened their hold, causing the bat-shaped shuriken to fall from his grasp, clattering on the floor. The woman let out a sob at the sight as Batman lowered his hand down.

Zsasz's eyes lit up with intent. "Very good, very good," he spoke softly. "Now, you just stay right there."

"If I don't?" Batman prodded.

"We both know you won't risk this zombie's life; you've just proven that. But, if you insist…"

That was when Zsasz moved both of his hands to grab the woman's shoulders. Turning to a side, he then shoved her towards the end of the platform, the young woman screaming as she fell off and landed on the tracks.

Following with his head, Batman only moved to ensure the hostage was alright, seeing her lying on the subway tracks. However, when he tilted his head up he noticed a dim light beginning to grow brighter emerging from the subway tunnel.

In an instant, the dark-clad man leapt off the platform, landing right next to the woman. She was openly sobbing, tears cascading down her face with a hand clutching at one of her arms. The blaring of a train horn echoed down the tunnel, causing the vigilante to look up and see the subway's face closing in on them.

There was no time to talk to the girl; she was clearly not in the frame of mind to move on her own, much less help out. Wrapping an arm around her waist, Batman hauled her up off the ground, flinging her up onto the subway platform. Out of the corner of his eye, the headlights of the subway train were blinding, the squealing of brakes screeching out as the train tried to slow to a stop.

Leaping, Batman got a portion of his upper body on the platform and went into a roll, rolling over the young woman just as the subway train raced by. Wind blasted over their bodies, beating at them even as the subway slowed down. Continuing his roll, the vigilante ended up lying next to the hostage, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Glancing to his side, he noticed the woman whimpering, her eyes sealed shut.

"It's okay," he said as gently as he could, causing the girl to crack her eyes open to look at him. "You're safe now. He won't hurt you anymore."

If he thought the woman's crying was uncomfortable, the moment she began bawling was just as bad. She even latched onto him with one arm, burying her face into his chest. It was obvious she needed comfort; the problem was that Zsasz was getting away.

Peeling himself away from the woman, Batman got onto his feet and immediately noticed a nearby man, his cell phone trained on him. Scowling, he barked, "You—call 9-1-1. This woman needs medical attention _now_."

The young man jumped, a startled look on his face. Fortunately, he nodded his head quickly and began dialing. Turning away, it was then the vigilante noticed several people calling out to him, pointing to the open doorway leading into a corridor. He didn't need to be a lip-reader to know what they were trying to say.

"He went this way!"

Taking off, Batman charged towards the indicated entrance, racing passed the crowd as he immediately came to a staircase. Leaping up it two to three steps at a time, the vigilante raised a hand to the side of his cowl and activated the comm device.

"All points, the suspect is heading street level from the Bowery Subway Station, north entrance. I want eyes on him at all times. Make sure he doesn't get away."

* * *

Feet pounding on the steps, Zsasz ran out of the subway station exit, making good on his escape. He shoved past zombies, shoving down the urge to end their miseries. Now was not the time for that. He would get to them all later. Right now, all that mattered was escaping.

A part of him had been amazed that the Batman had taken the bait that was the zombie and another part was disgusted. If that freak had had any sense, he would have let that zombie die and gone after him. But he didn't, proving he was one of those hero types.

That sickened him. The hero types were always getting in the way.

Back onto the streets, he continued his dash, shoving anyone who got in his way. He needed to put some distance between him and the subway. Once he was far enough, then he could slow down and slip into the nearest crowd, letting them hide him from any other hero types. There were other things he needed to do, such as finding a new place and getting his hands onto more knives, but that could be done later, when he was safe.

Turning a corner, he continued his run, a part of him cursing at the lack of any crowds. Just random zombies all spaced out. There was no way he could hide here. Unless…

There were alleys strewn all over the place. All he needed to do was pick one and hide in there. Then he could lay still like a liberated zombie until it was safe to come out. Patience was one of his better traits.

Zsasz's eyes scanned for any alley that might offer him the kind of protection he needed, an emphasis on dumpsters and trash-filled areas at the top of his mental list. He past several before skidding to a stop at a very promising candidate. There was a dumpster on the left side of the alley, a fire escape just above it. Trash littered the ground and…what was that?

Crouched down on his knees, back to the alley entrance was—did his eyes deceive him?—another zombie. There wasn't much to tell about it outside of a long, white-colored coat. That and it was trembling.

More importantly, the zombie was alone, with no sign of anybody else there or having been there.

Zsasz licked his lips. Maybe he still had time for one more kill. A quick look behind him showed no sign of any Batman around. He could do it. All he had to do was be quick about. He still had his knife on him and he had yet to shed any blood this night.

But he needed to…he needed to get…

No, it was obvious that this zombie was suffering and who was he to ignore it? A quick slit of the throat, let it bleed out, and another zombie's suffering was ended.

Pulling out the knife, the serial murderer began his slow approach to his prey. Each step he took was silent as he drew closer and closer. Everything else that could distract the killer faded away until only this zombie remained. Every twitch, every whimper, every deep and pained breath was noticed.

Even when the twitching and the whimpering and the breathing came to a sudden halt, Zsasz did not stop. Tightening his grip on the knife handle, he reached out with one hand to the zombie's shoulder.

Abruptly, the zombie spun around and—

"SSSSKKRRRRRIEEEEEEEE!"

* * *

Bursting out into the street from the subway terminal, Batman shot his head to his left, then right, eying the startled crowd of people staring at him. Zsasz was somewhere here, he just had to be.

" _Batman, perp headed north on Terrace, then east on Franklin,"_ Huntress' voice spoke into his ear. Not even bothering to acknowledge the help, the vigilante pulled out his grapple and fired it up at the building next to him, several people crying out in surprise. The moment the line went taut, he hit the retraction button and soared up into the air.

The moment he reached the top of the building, Batman was running along the roof towards the opposite end. His prey only had a minute, two minute head start tops. He should still be visible as long as he reached the other end of the roof quickly. The moment he did, he didn't bother slowing down, instead leaping out into the night air.

An instant later and he grabbed onto his cape, the current in his gauntlet causing the cloth to stiffen into its glider mode. Below him was Franklin Street, the dark-clad man tilting his glider slightly so that he was flying over and down the road. Looking further up, the Dark Knight's head perked up when he caught sight of a man in a hoodie—Zsasz. The man was just turning into an alleyway too, no doubt trying to seek refuge. Had he gotten there a second earlier, Batman would've never seen him.

It seemed luck was finally going his way.

Angling his glider, he slowly descended to the mouth of the alley. At the last moment, he let go of this cape, feeling it go slack behind him just as his feet hit the—

"SSSSKKRRRRRIEEEEEEEE!"

 _What the hell was that?!_

Batman barely had time to look into the alleyway, where he saw Zsasz standing there. An instant later and the bald man was knocked to a side, slamming into the wall of the alley and dropping to the dirty ground in a heap.

Batman didn't have any time to make sure the serial killer was still breathing, much less alive. His attention was solely on a giant, brown beast, which was standing up on its pants-covered legs. Two bat-like wings stretched out, revealing a rather impressive wingspan. In fact, if the vigilante wasn't mistaken, this…thing looked like a giant bat.

It was then the bat's red, glowing eyes focused right on him. Vaguely, Batman was aware of his own dress, that of a bat as well. His cape was still falling down around him, so he could only imagine he appeared to be stretching his own wings out had he also been a giant bat. It was the only explanation he could think of for why the beast charged at him at full-force.

"SSSSKKRRRRRIEEEEEEEE!"


	15. Bat Season

Author's Note: Okay, before we start, I would just like to say how proud I am of this chapter. Let's give a hand to ShadowMajin for writing most of it. With this chapter, we're about halfway through this story, but what takes place here ought to make you say "oh shit" more than once. Enjoy.

Bat Season

The giant bat was on him in seconds. There was no time to dodge, no time to defend himself. As a gaping mouth full of razor sharp teeth lunged towards his head, all Batman could do was get his right arm up just before the monster rammed right into him.

The creature's mouth slammed shut onto his forearm an instant later, an alarming pressure exploding up and down the vigilante's arm. The force the bat had hit him with lifted the Dark Knight right off the ground, taloned feet latching onto his legs.

With its wings spread out wide, the giant bat flapped them up and down, rising the two up into the air and over the street. Car horns blared out as the sound of tires screeching filled the air as the vehicles skidded to sudden stops. All the while, the creature continued to bite down harder on Batman's arm, the sound of protesting metal reaching the vigilante's ears.

Batman pressed his free hand against the bat's chest and pushed back as much as he could, but his effort was for naught. The grip this monster had on his legs and arm was too much to resist. Jerking his head to a side so that he could look behind him, Batman saw they were still rising up higher into the sky, nearly reaching the edge of a roof.

There was no doubt in his mind that this giant bat thing was going to get as much altitude it could and when it gave up trying to bit his arm off, drop him to the street far below, assuming his gauntlet held out. No way was he going to wait to see what happened first. He needed to act now.

The moment they shot over the ledge and continued to fly up over the building's roof, Batman raised his right arm as high as he could, which thankfully caused the giant bat's head to tilt up, exposing its neck. Balling up his free hand into a fist, he slammed a punch into the monster's throat with all the strength he had.

A gasping, gagging sound came out of the bat's mouth, its jaw dropping open so that the dark-clad man could quickly pull his arm back. Its feet spasmed out of reflex, ultimately releasing its hold on his legs. The next thing Batman knew, he fell away from the beast, landing on his feet on the roof seconds later. The force in which he landed was too much for his legs to handle though, and the vigilante found himself dropping hard onto his back, the sound of crunching gravel reaching his ears.

Coughing hoarsely from the landing, his lungs fighting to refill themselves with air, Batman knew he couldn't afford to be lying so helplessly. With a groan, he forced himself to roll onto his side, and then his stomach, his arms pushing up on the roof so that he was on his hands and knees. A glance to his right arm sent a shock through his system. While he had been aware of the increasing pressure the monster had been putting on his arm, he hadn't known the extent of the damage. The gauntlet was bent and twisted, puncture marks where its teeth had actually pierce into it. The creature had to have had a powerful bite to cause that much damage. Tearing his eyes away from his arm, he looked up to see the giant bat soaring off, its arms beating up and down.

Unfortunately, it then began to make a wide turn, turning back to fly right back to the dark-clad man. It seemed his time for recovery was over.

Getting back onto his feet, the vigilante reached to his belt and pulled out two sets of cords, metal balls connected at its ends. With one in each hand, he began to rotate his wrists over and over, causing the bolas to spin until they were blurs at his sides. The whirling sound they made filled his ears even as he focused on the monster closing in on him.

"SSSSKKRRRRRIEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!" the giant bat roared as it raced towards him. Steeling his face, Batman lunged forward, throwing one bola, then the second one slightly higher than the first. The bolas whirled through the air towards their target.

In response, the bat flapped its wings down, causing it to rise up higher into the air. It was an attempt to dodge the incoming bolas and the maneuver was successful at avoiding the first bolas. This had been expected. For a creature with a predictable motion for flight, it would have to beat is wings down to go over an attack, thus why the second bola had been aimed higher than the first. Because its arms were down as well, it made it that much easier for the second bola cables to wrap around the monster's torso, pinning its arms to its sides.

A startled cry rang out from the giant bat, its momentum carrying it forward and down until it landed hard on the floor, skidding across the gravel until it slowed to a stop. Taking deep breaths, Batman stared at the fallen animal, keeping his guard up while trying to let his body recover.

" _Batman, what the hell is that?"_ Huntress asked him over the comm. Her tone was a mixture of alarm and bewilderment, not that he blamed her. He was asking himself the same question.

"I'm not sure," he admitted, preparing himself to approach it. It was secure at the moment, but he'd have to be careful—

Suddenly, the giant bat reared up, letting out an enraged roar as it stood on its knees. It struggled with the bola cables for maybe a couple seconds, if that, before a sharp _snap!_ was made. Immediately, the cables went slack and the creature shrugged them off, stretching out its winged arms.

Dread welled up within the vigilante. This monster had super strength as well, just perfect. The bolas he had were meant to hold even the strongest man. While he expected someone like Superman or Diana to shrug them off with ease, he was not expecting your run-of-the-mill monster to.

This fight had taken an unexpected turn.

The giant bat got up onto its feet, growling at the Dark Knight. It didn't take like for it to bellow out, "SSSSKKRRRRRIEEEEEEEE!" before charging, holding its wings out horizontally as it ran. The vigilante shifted his stance, taking on a defensive pose as he watched the incoming bat.

Then the giant bat leaped high into the air, dropping down with its taloned feet posed to strike. Diving to a side, Batman went into a roll from his shoulders and back, and ended up right on his feet. He had just whipped around as the creature landed right where he had been standing previous.

However, that was when he noticed its wing closest to him was folded inward. In an instant, it snapped out in an attempted backhand blow, Batman narrowly dodging it as he threw himself backward, sticking his hands above his head, going into a backflip. Hands touched the gravel-covered ground and he immediately sprung off of it, landing back on his feet.

" _Bats, help is on the way,"_ Huntress informed him then.

"Hold your position," the dark-clad man immediately barked, the giant bat standing still as snarled and growled. "I don't want either of you two near this thing."

" _And watch you become its dinner? I don't think so."_

"That's an _order._ " He couldn't help but put emphasis on that word. While Huntress was going to be royally pissed, he would deal with it later. Right now, this bat was treating him like an intruder in its territory. The way it held itself as if to make it look bigger, the constant shrieks and growls, it was all behavior of a predatory protecting its territory, or recent kill. There was no telling what it would do if either of the women joined in.

Besides, he was just beginning to form a plan.

Reaching to a pouch on his belt, he pulled out a small canister. Gripping it with most of his hand, one finger resting on its top, the vigilante waited for the giant bat to attack again.

It didn't disappoint.

Screeching, the giant bat charged at him, though this time Batman lunged at it rather than dodged. Avoiding a side-sweep of one of its arms, the Dark Knight shoved the canister right to the creature's face and pressed his finger down on its top, releasing a stream of gas.

Its reaction was instant. "SSSSKKRRRRRIEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!" it screamed, backing away from the gas, not that Batman blamed it. It was essentially mace with a more powerful kick to it—his own receipt. Stumbling, the bat rubbed at its face before it gave up all pretense of facing the vigilante and turned its back on him. An alarm went off in Batman's head as he realized the bat was about to flee. Were he in worse shape, that probably would've been a welcomed sight.

As it was, he was not going to let it escape.

Taking off, Batman ran after the retreating monster, the bat beginning to flap its wings as it reached the edge of the roof. Picking up his pace, the vigilante leaped after it, landing on its back just as it took to flight.

* * *

Speeding through the streets, his lights flashing and siren blaring, Cort raced towards the last known reported whereabouts of the city's most famous vigilante. The sergeant had been in the middle of following up some leads when the call had come over the radio.

Cort didn't know who it was that that freak was chasing, and it didn't matter. So many reports of that masked criminal chasing some poor schnook down was all he needed to send out the order for every available cop to give chase. Tonight they were going to bag this bastard.

Stepping on the accelerator pedal, Cort increased his speed, adrenaline spiking through his system. The subway entrance over by Franklin was coming up. However, he couldn't rely on the freak to still be there. Any place nearby needed to be looked at, because by now, that masked crook could have left already.

This was going to take a bit of luck to do, but all he had to do was spot him. Then he could keep up the chase and direct everyone to follow.

If there was one thing Gordon was good for, it was keeping that standing order to arrest this guy on sight. It was coming back in dividends when he spotted several patrol cops zeroing in on the subway.

Good. They were going to need all the—

" _SSSSKKKKKRRRIEEEEEEEE_!"

Cort's eyes widened as the sight of some monster flashed in front of his windshield. For a second, all he could see was brown fur and leather wings before whatever it was flapping its way over and above the cop. Slamming on the brakes, Cort came to a sudden stop all the while trying to keep his eyes on whatever it was that he had seen.

It was behind him now and…wait. What was that?

That thing, whatever it was, was trying fly, but there was something on it? It was black, like a…cape…

Spinning the wheel as hard as he could and slamming on the gas, Cort spun his car around to continue his chase.

There he was. Batman. And the bastard was holding onto that flying thing. And they were moving. If there was one thing he couldn't do, it was lose sight of them. This was the chance he had been waiting for for so long.

Reaching out with one hand, he snagged the radio received and brought it to his mouth. "Dispatch, I need everyone to go to Rutherford and head south. The suspect is on the move and he's airborne. I need helicopters, I need SWAT, get some damn searchlights when we pin them down. I need everyone on this."

A second went by before the dispatcher asked, " _You need everyone?_ "

"EVERYONE! Everyone you deaf son of a bitch!" Cort roared into the receiver before throwing it to a side.

With his eyes pinned on the sight of his target and the monster he was riding, he growled, "I'm gonna get you. You're not getting away this time."

* * *

The wind battered at Batman's face, the view of the city jerking up and down and side to side. With one arm wrapped firmly around the giant bat's neck and the other around the torso, the vigilante would not be dislodged to easily.

Even if the bat was doing its best impression of a bucking bronco.

Powerful wings beating up and down, the two rose into the air before taking a sharp downward drop, followed quickly by another beat of its wings and up they went. Batman felt his body being pushed and pulled by the forces of gravity, motion, and inertia, all of which were being used to toss him off this creature. An angered screech ripped out of the giant bat's mouth right before it veered off to the right and over a busy street.

It became apparent why the monster had done this soon after. Looking up, Batman caught sight of a small water tank standing on top of a building—one that they were making a beeline towards. The bat was fully intent on using it to knock him off.

In response, the dark-clad man pulled the arm around the bat's neck closer to him, causing it to gag from having its windpipe forcibly closed. They immediately dropped altitude, swooping right between the legs-and thus underneath—the water tank. Emerging on the other side, Batman relinquished the pressure he had been applying if only to make sure they didn't crash into something else.

He heard the monster gasp, regaining its lost breath as it flew at a sedate pace. The only warning he got that it was up to something was the low growl it made. The next thing he knew, the giant bat spun around until it was soaring upside down with Batman hanging between it and the street below.

Immediately, the Dark Knight wrapped his legs around the creature's hips, pressing himself tighter against the bat's back. Inadvertently, his arm pressed down on the giant bat's throat again, causing it to gag once more. This sent them veering downward headfirst, the wind screaming in their ears as the ground rushed up towards them.

 _Damn it all!_ Batman's mind screamed as he had to force himself to loosen his hold. The giant bat hacked and coughed before it righted its flight pattern, turning them so that the vigilante was on top of it while it fought to regain altitude.

It was now a battle of stamina and endurance. How long Batman could hang on versus how long the giant bat could keep flight, fighting to rid itself of its burden. The vigilante was beginning to think that the former was going to happen way before the latter, so that meant he needed to intervene long before that question was answered. If he could reach his belt and pull out one of his sedative-covered shuriken, he could knock it out and end this charade.

Unfortunately, just as he had that thought, the giant bat made a sudden turn. Looking up, the Dark Knight swore as he saw them fly right for a construction site. Before he could react, they had swooped right into the skeleton of I-beams, rebar, wooden walls, and cement flooring. They then tilted towards the left until they were soaring parallel to each other.

That was until one of the I-beams slammed into Batman's back.

"Ahhhhh!" Batman cried out, losing his hold on the giant bat completely. With momentum working against him, he continued to careen through the air until he crashed unceremoniously on the floor. Body flipping and skipping over the cement, it took a moment before he ended up skidding to a stop, feeling battered and beaten all over.

"Uhhhhhh," he groaned, lying there as he tried to recover. In fact, never moving again was a rather appealing option at this point.

" _SSSKKKRRRIEEE_!"

Head jerking up, he then twisted to look behind him, seeing the giant bat perched up on an I-beam, gazing down on him. It then snorted and bellowed, _"SSSSSKKKKRRRRIIIEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"_ before it turned away and took off into the air.

Watching for a moment, Batman then dropped his head down to the floor, lying as still as he could as he panted. It seemed this round went to the monster this time.

* * *

Tires screeched to a halt, Cort not wasting anytime getting out of his car. Other patrol cars were arriving, bringing a sense of satisfaction to him. He leaned back into the car the snag the radio receiver.

"Perpetrator's at the construction site at 5th and Monroe. I repeat, 5th and Monroe." There, now everyone could zero in here.

"I want a perimeter set up," he ordered loudly to patrol. "Clear out anybody who shouldn't be here. I want this place secured."

Taking a good look at the site, he noted the six stories of floors, the absence of any walls, and the presence of cranes. Though the cranes might be tricky to get around, they'd have visibility inside the skeletal structure. Good, less places for him to hide. Then there was the space between the developing building and its neighbors; it would be easy to spot anything trying to use the surrounding buildings to escape.

Down the street, SWAT vehicles were coming into sight and overheard, you could hear the sound of helicopter propellers. Everything was starting to come together now.

"Lock and load, boys!" Cort called out. "Shoot anything that tries to leave. We're about to catch the Batman, and if you have to, shoot to kill."

* * *

" _Batman, you okay in there?"_

Huntress, of course. As much as he wanted to ignore the call, Batman knew he needed to respond. It took more effort than he liked to admit, but he eventually replied, "Catching my breath. Just give me a moment."

" _I don't think you have a moment to spare."_

That caused the vigilante to blink bewilderedly. Forcing his sore body to roll onto his back, he looked to see if the giant bat was making another pass at him, not seeing it anywhere. So if that wasn't it, what could be causing such alarm with Huntress?

"What's wrong?" he demanded over the comm link.

" _The police are showing up in force,"_ the purple-clad woman reported. _"I'm seeing squad cars, lighting equipment, even a couple trucks full of SWAT. It's like they're going to war out here."_

Grunting, Batman got up onto his feet and looked around. He soon found red-and-blue lights flashing from one side of the incomplete building. Trudging over to it, he soon reached the end and looked down at the sight of police cars parked all over the place, blocking off the street and entrance to the construction site. Spotlights were turning on, their bright beams being aimed right at the site. There were even cops spreading out to either side of the building, trying to surround it.

That was when a helicopter dropped into his sight, a bright light shining from it and onto the vigilante. "BATMAN, THIS IS THE POLICE," an intercom rang out. "YOU ARE UNDER ARREST. SURRENDER YOURSELF AND DO NOT MOVE OUT OF THE LIGHT."

 _What the hell?_

This was all for him? Why? Batman couldn't make heads or tails of it. In fact, he was getting a strong reminder of when he first started with the police after his head. There was that hiccup when he returned from his first unwilling sabbatical, but as far as he knew the GCPD was more than willing to let him continue operating.

Then again, there were still some cops that weren't happy he was out here. If this was any indication, those disgruntled cops were taking charge now. Just perfect.

"I REPEAT, SURRENDER YOURSELF NOW."

Scowling, Batman quickly pulled out a smoke pellet and flung it to the ground at his feet. Instantly, a cloud of white smoke covered him, which he used to get behind the closest I-beam. Less than a second later, gunshots were fired, the sound of bullets ricocheting off the floor being made an instant later.

" _Batman, what the hell is going on?!"_ Huntress screamed in his ear.

"That's what I'd like to know," he replied. He and Gordon were going to have a talk about this very soon, assuming he wasn't killed on the spot. Since the helicopter was pretty much on top of him, the dark-clad man moved further into the construction site, removing himself from its sight. He made sure to keep behind the I-beams, lest he make himself an open target.

Keeping behind one, the vigilante peeked around it, spotting the helicopter slowly descending down. Its body was facing the incomplete building, allowing one of its occupants a direct look into the place. He held a rifle in his hands and was scanning the area, looking for him no doubt.

Pulling out a shuriken, he sent the bat-shaped projectile flying, arcing it off to a side of the helicopter before it curved in and collided with the rifle. A shocked cry rang out as the officer dropped his weapon, falling backwards into the hovering aircraft. The helicopter seemed to rock in place before it ascended upwards, removing itself from his sight.

That had been surprising. The Dark Knight had been certain some return fire would've been called for. The retreat, though unexpected, would not last for long. They were being cautious with him.

At least that was his first thought.

Suddenly, he heard a sharp _tink!_ followed by another and another. Looking around, he soon spotted a canister rolling along the floor, right before it exploded into a cloud of gas.

Before he could move or think, the gas swept over him, immediately causing the vigilante to begin coughing. _Mace._ The suffocating gas attacked his senses and airway, causing Batman to try and flee the cloud. He couldn't breathe, the smell of noxious fumes were burning at his nostrils and causing his eyes to tear up. He didn't care which way he went as long as it was away from the mace.

That turned out to be a fatal error. Blindly wandering, the dark-clad man soon found himself right at the edge of the building, looking down at two rows of heavily-armed SWAT team members, all of their guns trained right at him.

"There he is!" someone shouted. "Fire!"

Eyes widening, Batman dove to a side just as a hailstorm of bullets erupted where he had been standing. Keeping low, he tried to put himself as far away from the gunfire, even if it brought him closer to what was left of the dissipating mace. He'd rather suffocate on irritating gas rather than be shot up.

Turning his head to look over his shoulder, he could still see the bullets blasting away, pelting away at the concrete and steel frame of the building. However, that was when he noticed a couple of tanks standing right next to one of the I-beams, H2 labeling the tanks as Hydrogen.

And the bullets were beginning to hit them.

Batman only had time to turn away. He didn't even get a chance to take a step as a loud, thunderous roar rang out and the force of an explosion slammed into him.

* * *

It was times like these where Bullock swore showing up "fashionably late" was complete and utter bullshit.

Following the reports from dispatch and on the radio, Bullock had arrived on the scene as SWAT was doing its best impression of D-Day. The amount of firepower they were laying down was…what was that lawyer word again? Oh yes, excessive.

As Montoya brought them to a stop, the lieutenant said, "Keep your head down out there, Montoya. I swear to God, Cort's behind this."

Not waiting for the engine to be killed, Bullock shoved his way out of the car and began his search for his so called better half. It was easy, but that was because he found Cort joining SWAT in firing as many bullets as he could.

"CORT!" he shouted, trying to get the other man's attention. "CORT! TELL THOSE ASSHOLES TO STOP SHOOTING!"

Something had to have gotten through, because Cort stopped firing his pistol and looked over at him.

"STOP?" the sergeant shouted back, trying to be heard over the gunfire. "WE HAVE HIM CORNERED! I'M NOT LETTING HIM GET HIS WAY OUT OF THIS ONE!"

"DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING?!" Bullock roared back. "TELL THEM TO STOP SHOOTING NO—"

A loud explosion flared out from within the building, making SWAT and everybody else halt their fire. The very thing Bullock had wanted but not in the way he had wanted it. Good thing this gave him an opportunity to take this shit over.

"HOLD YOUR FIRE!" he bellowed, gaining all attention on him for a second. "Don't fire another damn bullet! We don't want to blow ourselves to kingdom come, do we?" Turning to Cort, he added, "I'm in charge now."

"This is mine!" Cort yelled at him. "My show, Bullock!"

"And I outrank you, ya jerk!" Bullock roared back, stabbing his finger into the other man's chest. Then to everybody else, "Nobody fires another shot without my say-so! Keep up the perimeter. I want the SWAT team in the building. Try finding if there's anything left in there, got it?"

He had to hand it to SWAT, they were quick on the uptake. Whoever was in charge of them was singling out men and sending them into the site. If they were smart, they'd start where that explosion was.

"What do you think you're doing, Bullock?" Cort snarled.

"Doing what needs to be done, Cort," Bullock fired back. "You might be okay with a corpse. I'm not. We need to take him in alive. If you don't like that, get the fuck out of here."

Not waiting for anything else to come out of Cort's mouth, Bullock spun around to continue asserting his authority. "Keep those lights on! Get that helicopter back down! I want every floor searched. This guy's gonna answer to us, and he better damn well be able to speak! Pick up the pace, people!"

* * *

"Jesus Christ," Huntress breathed.

The cops had been unexpected. That they were after Batman was even more surprising. The explosion—dear Lord, what the hell _was_ going on?

There was movement at her side, reminding the purple-clad vigilante that she didn't have the luxury of being an awestruck idiot. "Stand down," she demanded even before she could look at Batgirl. The mute girl stiffened at her words, thankfully heeding them. The last thing any of them needed was someone charging headfirst into a shooting gallery.

The irony was not lost on Huntress.

While the smaller girl was practically trembling with nervous energy next to her, Huntress immediately got on the comm. It was a sort of present Batman had given her when he brought her in on his operation. She had been surprised by the gift, but it was something she held onto with pride. If there was ever a way for the Bat to show his acceptance.

"Batman, do you read me?" she called out, waiting nervously. The only thing she heard was static, which only served to heighten her anxiety. "Batman, come in."

She tried to hail him a couple more times, but each one resulted in the same dreadful radio silence. That was not good. Considering the explosion, Batman must have been caught up in it and was too injured to respond.

They needed to get in there.

They needed to do something.

Anything.

Huntress grounded her molars together as she stared at the construction site. It was suicide to go in there, not with all the cops having shoot-on-sight authorization. She and Batgirl would die swinging in and that would make them less than helpful. If only they could sneak in; if only they could…could…

Tilting her head to a side, the purple-clad woman caught sight of the spotlights. There…that could help. With those lights on, the police could see anything and anyone coming and going. Without them, they'd be blind, if not panicked.

This could work.

It had been a long time since Huntress had used it, but she pulled out her crossbow and took aim. Her other hand came up, a spare arrow with it and pressed against the weapon's body. There wasn't much wind and she didn't need to make adjustments for gravity due to her perch. Taking in a deep breath, she held it, then slowly let it out.

 _TWANG!_

The bolt fired, flying through the air. She watched as the arrow collided with the glass of the spotlight, shattering it and hitting the light source within. Immediately the light went out, faint cries of surprise being made.

With practiced ease, Huntress reloaded the crossbow, took aim, and sent the next arrow flying. Seconds later, another spotlight went out.

Heh, so this is what being useful felt like.

* * *

His head was pounding, ears ringing, body protesting every move he made. Moving an arm forward, and then the other, Batman dragged himself across the floor, a grimace on his face. He pushed with his feet as much as he could, but whether it was helping or not was up for debate.

Every so often, he would hear static in his ear. Could have been his comm link, which if it was just repeated bursts of static, there was some damage to the device. That meant he couldn't get in contact with Huntress for assistance, assuming he wanted her in this mess, which he didn't.

He was effectively alone.

Seeing an I-beam, the vigilante crawled towards it, dragging himself around it and leaning up against it with his back. Raising a hand, he cradled his head for a moment, trying to soothe the headache he felt. Pulling his hand away, he vaguely noticed a discoloration on his glove. Focusing on it, he realized the tips of his fingers were stained with blood.

Not good.

Resting his head against the I-beam, Batman focused on catching his breath. He hadn't expected the explosion, being thrown through the air like a rag doll, and landing in a heap of pain. It was clear he was in no condition to be facing whatever it was the GCPD was throwing at him. He needed to get out of here.

Reaching to his belt, he pulled out a small device, pressing a button on it. A moment later it began to flash red light over and over. Dropping his hand to the ground, Batman closed his eyes as he tried to suppress the constant pounding in his head. Eyes opening, a bright light flashed from each side of him, the sound of whirling helicopter blades reaching his ears. The police must be trying to find him using the helicopter for visual confirmation. From their current angle, they'd never find him, but that could change depending on which side of the building they searched.

Which meant the GCPD was holding its fire for now. If they were searching, no doubt they'd be sending people in. That was fine for now. The cavalry would be showing up anytime now.

A blinding light then shown on him, causing the dark-clad man to raise an arm up to block it from his eyes. Damn it, the helicopter was off to his right, its spotlight right on him. "Batman is down," he heard someone shout from the aircraft. "I repeat, Batman is down. Fourth floor, south side."

That cavalry better get here soon.

* * *

"Alright, we got him." Now that put Bullock in a better mood. So far nothing confirming he was still alive but he would be getting word anytime now. Still, just to be sure. "Cuff'em boys. Make sure he's still breathing."

Taking a glance over at Cort, who didn't look the least bit happy about the call, the lieutenant felt all the more vindicated for it. After all these years, they were about to get the Bat freak. Even with the sudden loss of several searchlights by arrows—who the hell used those nowadays?—things were still going his way.

All he could do right now was wait until SWAT reported they had him.

A frown creased his brow. He shook his head as he thought he heard something odd. Probably was imagining it. With all the cops around and a freaking helicopter in the sky, there was a lot of noise anyway.

So why was his gut screaming at him all of a sudden?

Looking away from the action in front of him, Bullock looked out into the city, especially as this weird sound began to grow louder. He couldn't really describe it except that it was getting louder and louder.

Squinting his eyes, he detected movement, yet he couldn't process it. Weird sounds, a bunch of small somethings moving through the sky…wait, small somethings?

A still active searchlight passed its beam of light between him and the rest of the city, giving Bullock a good look at—

"What the—?!" Bullock shouted.

* * *

They came as a swarm. One moment they weren't there, the next bats were everywhere. They screamed, they clawed, they darted around.

 _Thank you, Dr. Langstrom._

Ever since the vigilante had been introduced to Langstrom's bat-attractions technology, he had been trying to incorporate it into his arsenal. There really wasn't much use for it as an offensive weapon, but in the event he needed to make an escape, what better distraction was there for an army of bats?

With a groan, Batman hauled himself onto his feet. Eyeing the helicopter, he could see it still hovering, but there were noticeable banging sounds coming from it, where the bats were running into it. He could even see the men inside the aircraft swinging their arms around to ward off the flying rodents. Ultimately, the helicopter pulled away, no doubt to get away from the bat swarm in the event they caused enough damage to crash it.

Perfect.

Lumbering away from where it had been, Batman made his way to a nearby ledge, hitting a button on his gauntlet as he did so. Peering over, he could see the cops down below screaming and flinging their arms around to get rid of the bat infestation. That meant none of them were looking at him—even better. All he had to do now was to activate his glider and leave.

Another burst of static went off in the dark-clad man's ear. Seemed Huntress was still trying to get ahold of him. She would have to wait until he was in the clear and disposed of the bat-frequency device. These critters would be following him as he moved—

" _SSSKKKRRRIEEE_!"

The hair on his neck stood up, causing the Dark Knight to stiffen. Turning around, he saw the giant bat closing in on him, its mouth of sharp teeth wide open. There was no time for him to defend himself as the monster rammed right of him, knocking him off the edge. The bat roared in his face, saliva pelting his face all over.

Then, the creature lunged towards his left, causing them to go into a corkscrew motion as gravity began pushing them downward. Around and around the world around them spun, the ground rushing up towards them with every second. Eyeing the ground, Batman quickly shoved his forearm against the giant bat's throat, putting as much pressure on it as he could and forcing its head back. Using that arm as leverage, he pushed himself down its furry torso, trying to put as much distance as he could between him and that mouth of razor sharp teeth.

The bat, on the other hand, despite being pushed against was leaning towards him, refusing to be denied. This led to Batman being on top of the giant bat as it hit the ground, the air being knocked out of his legs even as he went rolling off of it. He lost his grip on the Langstrom device as well, though that was the least of his concern.

Coughing over and over, Batman sucked in as much air as his lungs could stand and force back out. Slowly pushing himself onto his hands and knees, he glanced over to the giant bat as it grunted and growled, getting back onto its clawed feet.

Damn, he was out of time. Though he needed to let himself recover, the Dark Knight knew he couldn't just leave himself open as he was. Forcing himself onto his feet, he stood up, only to realize just where he was. All around him was the GCPD, many of whom weren't swatting at the smaller bats and were instead gaping at the larger one.

" _SSSKKKRRRIEEEAAAAAAHHHHHHH_!"

Swinging its arms back and forth, the giant bat slammed its wings into the nearby police officers, sending them flying through the air. Oddly enough, it wasn't going towards the vigilante, which only confused him. The thing had assaulted him up in the construction site, but now it didn't seem care if he was there or not. Watching it with his eyes, Batman to figure out what the giant bat was trying to do.

It was then he saw it. Bouncing on the ground as it was being kicked around by the frightened cops was the Langstrom device. Realization hit the vigilante an instant later. The device had been made to attract bats and even though it was a monstrous size compared to the smaller ones, this was still a bat. It was here for it.

That left only one option.

Dropping a hand to his belt, Batman made to pull out a shuriken. The sooner he destroyed the device, the sooner this ended. However, even as his fingers opened one of the belt pouches, something caught his attention from the corner of his eyes. Tilting his head to it, he saw a cop kneeling behind the hood of a squad car, training his gun right at him while using the hood to line up his shot, a smirk growing on his face.

 _Oh, shit._

" _I've got you now,"_ the officer said, though Batman couldn't hear it over the screams of the giant bat and assaulted cops. He read the man's lip movements, though it didn't take much to figure out what he was saying. There was tension in his hand, his finger squeezing on the trigger.

An H-shaped shuriken colliding with his hand and weapon, knocking the gun out of his grip as he cried out.

One moment, the officer was crying out as he made to grip his injured hand; the next, Batgirl dropped out of the air, slamming a foot into the side of his face as she landed a flying kick. The policeman disappeared from sight behind the squad car as he was dropped, Batgirl landing on the hood of the car and using it to launch herself into a flip. Her acrobatic display ended as she touched down right next to the Dark Knight, her body coiled and ready for action.

Huntress appeared right next to Batman a moment later. "I think this is where we get the hell out of here," she declared, wrapping an arm around his back to help steady him.

"Not yet," he retorted, pulling out his bat-shaped shuriken. With a swing of his arm and a snap of his wrist, he sent to projectile whirling through the air, where it imbedded one of its sharp points into the Langstrom device. Electricity danced over the device before it went dead.

As if that were a cue, the swarm of bats around them began to disperse, flying away from the construction site enmass. That only left the giant bat, who had ceased in its attack as it tried to determine why it wasn't hearing the frequency anymore. Sniffing the air, it was oblivious to its surroundings before it stretched out its wings and took to flight.

That left Batman and his group all alone with the bewildered GCPD.

"Hold it right there!"

Except for that one officer.

As if that were a sign, the surrounding cops aimed their guns on the vigilantes. "You are under arrest!" one of them said, whom Batman wasn't sure about, nor did he care. "Put your hands into the air, or we will fire upon you."

"So now what do we do?" Huntress whispered to him, her anxiety clear in her voice. "I don't know about you, but I'd rather not go to jail. Please tell me you're working on something."

He already had, to be honest. Though this was a bad situation, it would be resolving itself shortly, and hopefully without further injuries.

"I won't repeat myself!" the same officer demanded. "Hands up where we can see them!"

Neither of the three vigilantes moved. They didn't have to. Despite the heat aimed at them, a sudden scream and subsequent crash caused them all to jerk their heads towards the street. "Now what?!" another officer exclaimed.

In answer, squad cars were shoved aside, either across the ground, knocked onto their sides, or launched into the air. A SWAT van was sent spinning to aside, knocking over several officers and crashed against a couple of police cars.

Standing out amongst the red, blue, black, and white colors was the publically-named Batmobile. Its titanium-reinforced front smashed and pushed aside anything and everyone in front of it, right until it pulled up right in front of the three vigilantes, the canopy sliding open.

"Get in," was all Batman said.

* * *

Author's Note: Always wanted to incorporate that bat-attraction device somehow into one of these stories, but none ever presented an opportunity. Until now, and naturally we had to give a twist to such an iconic moment. A Man-bat will turn this godsend into a curse, naturally. So yeah, shit went down this chapter. I hope it was action-packed enough for you all.


	16. Reaching a Breaking Point

Reaching a Breaking Point

Full consciousness came in as the last of the transformation finished. With a gasp, Kirk Langstrom panted where the creature he had once been landed, his body dripping with sweat. He shivered against the cool air, now perfectly aware at his state of…undress…

He had hoped that last night had been the only change he would have to go through, but tonight only served to shred it apart. What was he becoming? How long would he have to suffer, waiting for the next change, and the one after that, and the one after that?

Kirk already knew the answer; there was no telling how long this would last. He needed help. He needed to find someone who not only could help him, but would help him.

The first person that came to mind was Francine…and he crossed her off the extremely short mental list he had. There was no way he could involve Francine in this. She didn't deserve it. He could not in good conscience drop this into her lap, not when she had done so much to advance his cure for deafness. He wouldn't do that to her.

There was the rest of the research team, but they were just as excited about the early results of their recent serum. Like Francine, they had all been working hard too.

This one he definitely didn't want getting involved: his father. Kirk could already see the look of contempt his father would give him. Just another of his messes that the business mogul would have to clean up after, that's what all this would be.

And that was it, the despairing scientist realized. His short mental list really was short. No, damn it! There had to be somebody else! There had to be someone, anyone he could go to, if only to just talk this out and maybe get his thoughts in order.

Wait. Thoughts in order. There was one person he knew who was good at that. And wasn't he sworn to secrecy already? Required to not tell anyone about this? Yes, he was, wasn't he? If nothing else, the man could lend him some clothes so that the researcher would be so…exposed.

First thing was first, where was he? Looking around, Kirk realized he was on a rooftop. Okay, so he needed to get down, hopefully keeping out of sight at the same time. So what was on this rooftop? There were air conditioning units and not much else…but over there, there was a rooftop entrance! The first step of him getting out of this mess!

Rushing over, Kirk tried to push, then pull on the door before coming to the conclusion that the door was locked. No, no, no, he couldn't be trapped up here. If he was…then he would have to attract attention to himself in order to get out of here, and attention was the last thing he wanted.

But wait!

As the idea occurred to him, Kirk ran to the side of the rooftop and looked over the edge. Then he continued moving along the perimeter, searching…searching…there!

A fire escape!

He would have to drop down on it, but after tonight, that was nothing he couldn't handle. From there, he could make his way down to the ground below, then figure out where he was. Once done with that, he could head over to the only person he had identified that could help him out, no matter how limited it would be.

He only hoped that Dr. Erie wouldn't turn him away.

* * *

The door flung open, Batgirl leading the way as Huntress helped Batman through the doorway. She had an arm wrapped around his waist, his arm thrown over her shoulder as her other hand gripped his wrist. He honestly didn't need that much support, but considering how everything had become foggy since their retreat from the construction site, it was for the best.

" _Nice car,"_ Huntress had said once they had leapt into the vehicle and the canopy had shut closed. Activating autopilot, the car had taken them out of there, crashing through more squad cars and sending police officers diving out of the way. It was debatable whether the damage was necessary or not, but it made sure the number of pursuers was greatly reduced.

That had been followed by, _"So when do I get one of my own? Huntressmobile has a nice ring to it."_

It had been shortly after that the tell-tale signs of a concussion began to set in. That was when the coordinates in the computer had been changed to the Thompkins clinic.

Trampling through the small hallway, they took the first left they came to and entered the first door they reached. Even through the fog, Batman had recognized the place as the room they had seen to Huntress' ankle the previous week. Heading to a chair, the purple-clad woman lowered him into the chair, Batman making himself comfortable in the seat.

"You know, that was pretty intense," Huntress said after a moment, standing a couple feet away as she caught her breath. "I never thought the GCPD would be trying to shoot you on sight. I thought you had a good relationship with the Commissioner."

"So did I," Batman grunted as he leaned his head back, closing his eyes.

"Any idea what changed?"

"Not really, no."

There was a sigh. "Well, it couldn't have happened at a worse time. That guy you were chasing had to have escaped by now." A pause. "That was the serial killer guy you've been investigating, right?"

"Right." And wasn't that the truth. Between the police and that giant bat, Zsasz was most surely long gone. Still, he wasn't too worried about it. Shifting in his seat as he reached to a back pocket on his belt, he pulled out a small device, a glass screen, a couple buttons, and a knob on its face. "Thankfully I placed a tracking bug on Zsasz back at his apartment. As long as it isn't damaged—"

"We can find him again," Huntress interrupted him, snatching the tracking device out of his hand. "Alright, I'll go find this dirtbag and tie this thing up."

Despite how woozy he felt, that didn't stop the dark-clad vigilante from frowning. Opening his eyes, he leaned his head forward to look at the dark-haired woman. "We'll be going when I'm rested," he corrected her.

He received a stern look in response. "Uh, no, you're not. In case you haven't noticed, you have a concussion. I may not be an MD, but I know when someone's bell has been rung and yours was bashed in with a hammer. You're sitting this one out."

"No, I'm not," Batman growled at her.

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you most certainly are."

Both vigilantes turned their heads to find Leslie standing in the doorway, a disapproving look on her face. Deja vu was really kicking in at the moment. Striding into the room, she stood right in front of the Dark Knight, crossing her arms over her chest and looked down at him like a disappointed parent. "You're not going anywhere until I've checked you over," she ordered, her tone brokering no argument.

The look on her face, her tone, her body language, everything that made up Dr. Thompkins made the concussed Batman back down. Had he been even an iota of better health, he would've matched her imposing posture with his own. As it was, his head began throbbing horribly and he couldn't bear to keep his eyes open. Shoulders slumping, he leaned back in the chair.

"So even the Bat answers to someone," Huntress murmured in awe.

Still, even if he had backed down, there was still the matter of Zsasz. The longer he was out in the cold, the higher the probability he was killing another person. "We can't just sit here and let Zsasz still roam free," he argued.

Leslie merely glanced to her right at Huntress, then to her left where Batgirl was perched on the examining table. "It seems to me there are other people that can run this errand of yours."

As much as the suggestion pricked at the dark-clad man, that didn't make the statement any less true. As much as he prided himself on not letting his prey escape him, he couldn't let it get in the way of apprehending a person as sick as Zsasz. "Fine," he grunted. "Huntress, take Batgirl with you and bring Zasaz in. Do whatever it takes, but I want him brought in."

"You can count on us," Huntress responded, holding up the tracking device for him to see before she turned to address Batgirl. "C'mon, Batgirl, we've got a serial killer to track down."

Batgirl shifted her head slightly away from the purple-clad woman, glancing to Batman. Though she had already heard the order from himself and Huntress, it seemed she still wanted some sort of confirmation. So he slowly nodded his head. Hopping off the table, the dark-clad girl followed Huntress out of the room, closing the door behind them.

That just left him and Leslie.

This didn't occur to him until he heard rummaging sounds being made, followed by Leslie placing a small tray with medical supplies. "Take off your mask," she ordered him. "I need to see your face for my examination."

Taking in a deep breath, Batman held it for a moment before he slowly let it out. Reaching up, he pulled it off, revealing his face to the doctor. In all of her professionalism, she didn't so much as gasp or show shock, instead picking up a pen light and turning it on, moving the light in front of his eyes one at a time.

She then placed her hands on his cheeks and turned his head from side to side. "Well, you do have a concussion," she spoke once she was done. "The good news is it's a mild one. You'll need bedrest for at least a day, preferable two to three." Reaching the tray, she picked up a piece of gauze and a bottle of sterile water, wetting the gauze with the fluid before she began stroking it against the side of his head.

Bruce let her do her ministrations. Though his body was going to need some attention to, there was no way he was taking off his armor here of all places. The least he could do was let her do her doctorly obligations and then head off.

"I was watching the news," Leslie then said, tossing the piece of gauze into a nearby trash can, picking up another piece and repeating the process. Glancing to the trash, Bruce caught sight of some redness on the used gauze. "They were reporting on your altercation with the Gotham Police. I had a feeling you'd be showing up here eventually."

"It wasn't planned," the dark-haired man replied.

"You're here regardless. I can't imagine this is the first time you've been injured doing this insane crusade of yours."

"I'm sure Alfred told you all about it."

There was a pause in Leslie's cleaning, her hand clenching tightly for a moment before she continued. That was the only sign of anger she showed. "He did," she responded simply before shaking her head. "He was more worried about your mental state then how you were punishing your body."

Alfred had been right to worry as far as his mind was concern. Back in those days, they had been encountering villains that had been taxing his mind and soul. The betrayal by a close friend had been the start of that. They had countless talks following that incident, Alfred doing his best to keep the younger man grounded.

And in all honesty, that was something Bruce was still missing.

"You do know there are better ways for you to help this city, don't you?" the doctor continued, drawing Bruce out of his reveries. "You have the money to lift it out of its current state, the influence to make sure it doesn't fall back into criminal hands." She then gestured to the ruined gauntlet on his arm, twisted from the giant bat's bite. "You don't have to destroy your body anymore."

"You would think so," the billionaire replied, the alarming damage to his suit. "But today's criminals are much different than they were when I started. They're changing, becoming more sadistic and sickening in their appetites. I've faced men that created their own world with mind control, developed gasses to induce a person's greatest fears, and even burned the city down just because they could. This isn't the days of the Mob-it's more complex now than it ever was then."

"So you're the only one that can stand up to them?" Leslie countered skeptically. "What about the police? Can't you increase their funds and give them better equipment?"

It was Bruce's turn to give the older woman a look. "You know better than that Leslie. Even though the GCPD has been cleaned up, there is still corruption there and always will be. There are new crime families that see to that. I know you're not naive enough to think that just because they're different now doesn't mean they won't lose their way again."

She fell silent for a moment. Then, "Then why did you leave? Following the Gotham Fire, you disappeared for three years. Why?"

Bruce closed his eyes. "That's a long story."

"I have the time."

"Then you have the time to wait." The young man opened his eyes, showing his exhaustion. "I'm not in a good enough condition for that."

If Leslie was disappointed, she didn't show it. "Very well. I'll let you keep that secret for now."

"Thanks."

* * *

Pioneer bridge was a historical landmark and one of Gotham's most recognizable structures. It connected the older northside with the younger south. It was one of the last remaining Cyrus Pickney designs and there wasn't a Gothamite alive that would see it torn down.

It was atop the north tower that Huntress and Batgirl were perched, looking down on the bridge. Traffic was dead, mostly likely due to the heavy police presence earlier in the night. Or maybe people actually were taking the time to stay indoors for once. Regardless, there was a reason the two vigilantes were here.

According to the tracking device Batman had reluctantly given her, the bug planted on Zsasz was on its way here. He had been roaming the north bank for a while now, most likely keeping low. He was probably thinking heading to the southside of Gotham would throw any pursuers off his trail.

Tearing her eyes away from the tracking device, Huntress looked down at the bridge, waiting for her target to show. It took a few minutes, but eventually a lone figure appeared in sight, strolling down the sidewalk. Pulling out a pair of binoculars, the purple-clad woman looked into them, focusing them on the person. If their build was any indication, it was a man and one wearing a hoodie jacket, the hood pulled over their head. Huntress recognized it instantly.

They had their man.

Putting the binoculars and tracking device into a pouch on her belt, Huntress glanced to Batgirl, who was staring right at the man, no doubt having come to the same conclusion as she had. With her skills, apprehending Zsasz would be a synch. Batman hadn't been kidding when he said she could hold her own in a fight, him too for that matter.

Which made Huntress think.

Her fighting record had been spotty as of late. The last time she had been in a brawl, it had been against a Talon and resulted in her spraining her ankle pretty bad—not exactly an encouraging sign. Ever since that injury, she had been a ball of frustrated energy, eager to get back onto the streets. She hadn't hit someone in much too long and she really needed to do just that.

She needed a win in the worst of ways.

"Hey," she spoke, drawing Batgirl's attention to her. "You stay out of this for now; I'll take on Zsasz." Batgirl continued to stare at her, not acknowledging or giving off the impression she understood the order. For some reason, Huntress felt she had perhaps used one too many words that went over her head. She had a tough time understanding language, or so she had been told.

So she did the next best thing she could. Holding up a hand, she extended a finger up. "First," she said before she jabbed her thumb towards her. "Me." Then she held up two fingers. "Second." She then pointed at the dark-clad girl. "You." Her hand then made a stopping gesture. "Wait. Understood."

Batgirl gave her a sharp nod.

Great.

Pulling out her grapple, Huntress fired it right at her feet, where it clamped down on the edge of the bridge's tower. _Well, here goes nothing,_ she thought before she dropped over the ledge. Rapidly she plunged downward, the cable of her grapple gun making a _zzzzzzzz_ sound as it sped out of the gun. It wasn't until she was mere feet from the ground when she hit the retraction button to stop her descent.

Letting go of the grapple, Huntress landed on the pavement, the sound of her boots clapping loudly into the still night. Immediately, hoodie guy whipped around, looking at her in surprise.

"Hey, tough guy," the dark-haired woman greeted him. "You didn't think you really got away, right?"

There was a flash of steel as a large knife was pulled out from the pocket of the hoodie, Zsasz holding it in front of him. "Another zombie," he growled. "Purple too. I wonder what color your blood will be."

Huntress narrowed her eyes. That was such a disgusting thought, but then, what could she expect from a sicko like him?

That was when Zsasz charged at her, slashing at her with his knife. Jumping back, Huntress dodged the strike and then another, Zsasz stabbing at her over and over with his blade.

And then Huntress dove to her right, rolling on the ground from her shoulders down her back and onto her feet. All the while she pulled out a H-shaped shuriken, holding it tightly as she came to crouch on the balls of her feet. Whipping around to a side, she flung her arm out and sent the projectile flying, watching with satisfaction as the shuriken struck Zsasz's hand and knocked his knife out of his hand.

Zsasz let out a cry as he held his smarting hand, which gave the purple-clad woman all the time she needed to leap at him, slamming a haymaker of a punch to the side of his face, sending him spinning around and stumbling away. He even collapsed onto the ground, or so she thought.

That changed when she noticed Zsasz stretching a hand out towards his fallen knife.

Immediately, Huntress charged at the serial killer, just as he grabbed the hilt of his weapon. He forced himself onto his knees and was twisting around to face the charging vigilante when she took a huge stride and planted a foot on the ground. Leaning to a side, she swung her other leg out in front of her, feeling the toe of her boot kick Zsasz's hand and once more knocked his knife out of his hand.

Using her momentum, she brought her swinging leg down to the ground and picked her other leg up, spinning until she felt the heel of her foot collide with Zsasz's face. As she completed her spin, she saw her foe lying further away from her, next to the railing of the bridge. However, he wasn't staying down for long. Pushing himself up onto his knees and hands, he shook his head as if he were trying to clear it from the daze he must be feeling.

Well, he was about to feel more of that.

Rushing up next to him, Huntress arrived at his side as he was pulling himself against the bridge's railing to pull himself onto his feet. Grabbing his head, she slammed it down on the railing, causing a loud, dull _THUNG!_ to ring out. Letting out a furious snarl, Huntress forced Zsasz's head against the railing again.

"Arrrrah!"

 _THUNG!_

"Arrrah!"

 _THUNG!_

With each blow, Huntress could feel her fury overwhelming her. This man, this lowly, poor excuse for a man, was responsible for so many deaths. All the pain he had caused—

"Arrrrah!"

 _THUNG!_

—why should he be able to live? It was maddening! Intolerable!

"Arrrrah!"

 _THUNG!_

She could end it here and now. Bash his brains in and no one would care. Well, Batman would and probably his new protégé would tell him all about it.

"Arrrrah!"

 _THUNG!_

And she would know. She would've ended his life, even if he deserved it. But…what would that really solve? It was clear this guy had no remorse; in fact, he relished in it. The suffering he caused impacted not only his victims, but their families as well. They would want him dead right? She'd be doing them a favor as well as society as a whole!

So why was she trying to rationalize this?

Still clutching Zsasz's head, Huntress noticed his body had gone limp. His face was already red and was beginning to bruise nastily. He wasn't a threat any more.

Huntress found her grip loosening until the man dropped into a heap on the ground.

She stared down at him for who knows how long. There was something in her telling her she had done the right thing, not killing this psychopath. It felt…relieving. She would've welcomed it too had she not felt another presence behind her.

She didn't even have to turn around to know who it was.

Regardless, Huntress did turn to see Batgirl standing a short distance away. Her hands were in plain sight and they were unarmed, not that she wasn't dangerous still. It was clear she wasn't intending on interrupting the purple-clad woman.

"I'm sure Batman told you about the first rule," Huntress said as she began walking towards the girl. "No killing.

"Now let me tell you the second."

Huntress was passing by the younger girl by now. "Just because you won't kill someone doesn't mean you can't hurt them really bad."

* * *

The small television flashed images of the late night news, the coverage focused on the large scale police action that had occurred earlier that night. It was mostly the aftermath as various media outlets scrambled for any and all footage that recorded it all in its entirety.

They were not disappointed as various bystanders had used their phones, all with varying degrees of quality, and were even now uploading their videos onto the internet at this very moment.

Gordon was not happy about any of that as he faced the two men he had ordered into his office to explain themselves. One of those men sat slouched in his seat, uncharacteristically morose. The other stood at full attention, complete with lower arms behind his back and legs spread apart. The small television, on the other hand, remained in the corner of the commissioner's office, continuing to spew its damning visuals.

Turning the television to mute, Gordon sat forward in his seat and demanded one simple question. "Would either of you care to explain what the hell happened?"

A heartbeat of silence passed before Cort, the man who was standing at attention spoke for the both of them. "There were reports of a prolonged Batman sighting, and I responded. It was an opportunity to arrest the vigilante, and I attempted to take full advantage of it. We managed to corner the suspect at a construction site, and everything was holding together until the lieutenant arrived and took command."

Gordon's eyes flickered over to Bullock, the lieutenant in question, as well as the only other person sitting in the room. "That doesn't explain the property damage that was sustained. From all reports, there was an explosion."

"It was unexpected and an accident. I do not excuse myself for it," Cort answered stiffly. "Until that point, the apprehension of the vigilante Batman was all but assured."

"Yes, yes, I get it." The commissioner knew where this was going. Even if it was not his intention, which Gordon doubted was accidentally, Cort was pushing the blame onto Bullock. While Harvey had to answer for his own actions, Gordon was not going to let the blame game play out. "What's this about bats showing up?"

Cort shifted uncomfortably, cleared his throat, but said nothing. Bullock shrugged his shoulders, also not forthcoming with any answers.

Gordon breathed through his nose loudly. Well, that was great. All he had now was one man trying to make himself sound blameless and the other man was saying nothing at all. On top of that…Gordon knew that whatever came out this, there was a visit for him that was coming. Not from Mayor Grange or Harvey Dent, but most likely from a very unhappy vigilante.

He knew that if he were in that man's boots, he'd want an answer for the hostility too.

How the hell did this happen? Bullock and Cort were suppose to be investigating a serial killer, not tracking down Batman. That reminded him…

"What about the person he was chasing?" Gordon questioned.

"Excuse me?" Cort said.

"I heard the reports. The Batman was chasing someone. What do we know about him?" the commissioner pressed.

"I didn't think…" Cort began, trailing off immediately as if realizing that he had begun to misspeak.

That told Gordon everything he needed to know.

"You don't know who that man is, you don't know where he is now, and you don't know why the Batman was chasing him," Gordon stated. "So whatever information this man might have to bolster your case, you don't have any access to. And until he come to us, there's no way for us to know why he was being chased."

"I never saw the Batman chase anyone," Cort rumbled, his body posture stiffening. If Gordon wasn't mistaken, the large man was slightly trembling.

Most likely out of anger, not fear.

"What I did see," Cort continued, "was the vigilante holding onto some…giant bat thing and flying through the air. I don't know what it was, but it appeared again after the bats showed up. I believe that the Batman brought whatever that this is into the city and is using it for some undetermined purpose."

Okay, this was starting to sound like the stories that had been going around when the vigilante had first started showing up. Looked like those stories were making a comeback, but unlike last time, the commissioner was not in the mood to entertain them.

"Even if that were true, why would the Batman bring some giant bat thing to the city, and why now? Why not earlier?" Gordon pressed.

"I don't know, but I want to find out, Commissioner. I would like to be reassigned and allowed to form a task force to bring the vigilante Batman down once and for all," Cort said. "It's time we started doing our jobs and take that…man…into custody."

Cort, you were a man behind his time. Had this been several years ago, he would have gone with it, but after everything that had happened during these past years?

"I'm going to have to refuse your request, Sergeant. I'm also suspending you for several days so that you can get evaluated," Gordon laid down the law as he told the lesser ranked man what his punishment would be.

"What?" Cort barked, glaring down at the glasses-wearing man.

"You used excessive force, caused who knows how much in costs of property damage, made some very sensitive and rich people mad because you did it all on their property, and you have nothing to show for all of it. If you weren't part of the union, I'd do more, but consider reprimand for now. It'll be paid leave, so find someone to get you psychologically evaluated, come back with good results, and then I'll reinstate you. You may leave now, Sergeant."

Cort glared down at Gordon, not moving a muscle.

"Your union rep can provide you with a list of department approved mental health specialists," Gordon added. "I've been hearing about this one shrink some officers have been recommending. He's called Erie, I think. You might want to start with him."

Cort remained silent as he continued his glare. Then, he abruptly spun on his heel and stomped out of the office, throwing the door open but not shutting it as he marched his way on his warpath. That left the commissioner alone with the only other man in the room.

Gordon allowed Bullock a moment before continuing his investigation. "What happened out there, Harvey?"

Instead of an immediate response, Bullock continued to be silent. Then, "He's losing it."

Gordon blinked. "Who's losing it?"

"Cort. Who else?"

The commissioner rolled his eyes. He had expected more out of his unofficial right hand man. Not more of the blame game.

"Lieutenant, I'm not in the mood for finger pointing," he began, only for Bullock to cut him off.

"You weren't out there, Jim. You didn't see what I saw," the lieutenant stated. The huskier man took a couple deep breathes before he continued talking, though it was a very abrupt change of topic. "You know where I stand on the Batfreak. I want to take him down, more than Cort even. Thing is, I want him alive. I want to book that mask-wearing son of a bitch, and I want him to have a pulse while I do it.

"Cort don't care about that. He's aiming to kill him. I saw it all out there. He was shooting his gun off _with_ the SWAT team, and when that freak swarm of bats showed up and then the Batfreak was down there with us, I saw him aim his gun right at him. Not to wound him, but to send him to the goddamn morgue."

A chill went up Gordon's spine. From the sound of it, it seemed like the commissioner had been underestimating Cort's zealousness to uphold the law.

"I know the truth, Com'mish. I know you have no intention of bringing the Batfreak in, even with that standing order of yours to arrest him on sight," Bullock continued. "Don't think I'm stupid, I know you're chummy with him. I know you're using him to clean up the streets, take down the mob, and all that jazz. And I do get that when he chases someone down, whoever the poor bastard is did something to warrant them a stay at Blackgate."

"Where are you trying to go with this, lieutenant?" the commissioner asked plainly.

"If I were you, I'd be expecting your pal to pay you a visit soon. I know I would if the men who answered to a guy I knew tried to kill me. You didn't hear this from me, but if you should see him, warn him about Cort. I'm saying this only 'cause I'm gonna be the guy who brings him in and I need him alive to do that," Bullock finished.

That was kind of a roundabout way of saying he was worried about the man people called the Dark Knight. Gordon was going to do that anyway, but still.

"For the time being, I'm going to have to put you on desk duty. You're staying here until this all blows over," Gordon told him. "In the meantime, if I were you, I'd find some people around here who might be sympathetic to you, and get them working together. Also remember that you're supposed to be investigating a serial killer. Pick people you can trust and get this done."

Bullock snorted. "Right. Odds are the ugly bastard the Bat was chasing is the killer and by morning the schmuck's going to be on our doorstep."

"Or you could be the one to apprehend them and not have to wait for that to happen," Gordon replied. "I'll keep what you said in mind, but you be careful yourself. After tonight, Cort's friends are going to have some ammunition of their own, and I don't think they'll be happy with either of us."

"What do I care, I didn't like any of them anyway," Bullock replied, snorting as he stood up. "I'll catch you around."

No doubt in his mind about that. But from what Gordon had learned here, he was more worried about the department, and the rift that was growing within it. Cort's actions and Bullock's observations were bringing that to light. It all centered on the presence of Batman, and if there was anymore need for him to stick around.

Sides were being taken and before this was over, people were going to be hurt. There was no question about that.

* * *

Not for the first time did the psychiatrist wonder if making his home address available was a good thing. Dr. Victor Erie had been enjoying a quiet night, catching up on some reading when a knock on the door cut into his activity.

At the very least, if he became too annoyed with whoever was at the door, he had his ways of making sure they did not intrude on him in his home.

After adjusting his hair piece, he strolled over to the entrance of his domicile, taking his time even as the knocking occurred again. Taking a moment to peer into the peephole, Erie frowned at what appeared and he had to ponder if he was seeing what he was actually seeing. Reaching out, he undid the locks, then gripped the doorknob, turning it so that he could confirm that he wasn't seeing things.

Indeed he wasn't. There really was a half-naked Kirk Langstrom at his door, arms wrapped around his shivering body. Now this was quite the surprise.

"Kirk? What happened to you?" the bearded man inquired, stepping aside while gesturing for his client to come in.

"I'm in trouble, Dr. Erie," Kirk answered as he obeyed the gestures. "I'm…I'm in need of…" the unclothed man trailed off, ceasing to speak. His eyes had widened, as if staring at…what was he looking at?

For a second, Erie wondered what was going through the man's head until he figured out what it was that Kirk was staring at. It was his home, which happened to be a penthouse suite. Thanks to some of his elite clientele, the psychiatrist was able to afford some, how do you say, luxurious accommodations? He had more space than he knew what to do with, to be frank.

But Kirk was not here for the guided tour. Based on the observation he had made so far, all based on the man's appearance and behavior, Kirk was in need.

"Sit down, Kirk," Erie calmly ordered, placing a hand on a flinching shoulder. "Relax. You are safe here."

Kirk shook his head in the negative. "No. I'm not. I'm…" Again, the obviously anxious man trailed off, only this time he was slouching over and running his hands through his hair. Erie guided him over to a couch and coaxed him into sitting, waiting for Kirk to continue where he had left off.

"What's wrong, Kirk? You don't look well," Erie commented, running his eyes up and down the bared body. "Has something gone wrong? Are you in any danger?"

Danger, yes. Judging by the state of his clothes, or what was present, something terrible had to have happened. The Langstrom man was only in a pair of torn pants, ripped-opened holes scattered throughout the fabric. Other than that, there was a total lack of apparel.

Unexpectedly, Kirk barked out a short laugh. "Danger? I am the damn danger, doctor."

Very vague, that answer.

"Why don't you take a moment to collect your thoughts," Erie suggested. "I'll make you some tea, and get you a blanket while I'm at it. You must be freezing."

His following tasks were mundane and easily skipped over. He could rely on his body to direct him towards the kitchen where a quite modern, stainless steel tea kettle was set on the stove filled with water, and left to boil when he fetched the promised blanket. His thoughts poured over what little information he had observed as well as heard, and no conclusion could be reached.

He would need for his bedraggled client to provide more clarity to his odd situation.

Once he had Kirk settled, blanket wrapped around his bare body and a warm cup of tea provided, Erie took a seat in his favorite chair, a legal pad and pen at the ready. The shrink had a feeling he was going to need them.

Allowing several minutes to pass in silence to allow the other man to collect his thoughts, Erie prompted with a soft, yet deep, voice, "So what has been happening Kirk?"

A moment passed before the poor scientist accepted the verbal helping hand. "Do you remember the last time I saw you? Last night I think?"

Erie took a moment to recall. "Ah yes, I believe it was about your cure for deafness and your father's sudden interest with it. Has something happened?"

"You remember your suggestion?" Kirk continued with another question.

That took a little bit of mental effort, but yes, the psychiatrist did recall. "I do."

"I followed it. I…I tested the cure on myself," Kirk stated, barring all.

Showing nothing, Erie observed his client who seemed to be shrinking in on himself. "I see. Tell me, was it effective? Did it help you?"

Kirk swallowed and nodded his head in the affirmative. "It was. I can hear you just fine, doctor."

Odd choice of words there. Hmm. Narrowing his eyes, Erie's gaze moved towards Kirk's ears and only now did he notice the absence of the man's hearing aids. Both of them. Well then. This was quite surprising.

"Congratulations, Kirk," Erie found himself saying involuntarily. "You seem to have found the answer to your problems. It's great."

"That's not all, Dr. Erie," the pathetic-looking man stated, not looking up at him as he continued to portray the very essence of misery. "There were…unanticipated side effects."

Erie raised his eyebrows. "What…kind of side effects?"

Kirk's hands placed his tea cup down, the liquid contained untouched, and placed the appendages against his face. His body expanded as he heaved a loud sigh, encouraging the interest the shrink felt.

"I think we discovered something," Kirk said at long last. "Something we weren't looking for. I don't…I don't think it's a cure. It's…it's a mutagen."

"A mutagen?" Erie repeated, more and more intrigued by the moment. Where was this all leading to?

"I've been experiencing… _changes_. I know, I look the same as last time, but these changes, they come and go," the scientist continued, his speech becoming more and more rapid the more he spoke. "I don't know why they happen, but when they do, I become a…a monster! Some… _thing_ that…that…"

Erie waited on bated breath, completely enthralled.

"…I think…I think it looks like a bat. A giant bat monster _thing_! Once the change is complete, I'm not in control and the next thing I'm aware of, I'm back to normal with no signs of the changes! I had hoped that they would be a one time thing but it happened again— _tonight_ —and…and-and-and I need help but I don't know where to go or to who or—"

"Shhhhh, calm down, Kirk. It's perfectly fine for you to feel this way. There was no way for anybody to know how this would go," he interrupted. "Take deep breaths, like we practiced, remember? Breathe from your abdomen, not your chest."

Langstrom obeyed the order, doing as the psychiatrist told him. While the researcher was doing that, Erie's mind was racing with everything he had been told. Even with what he had been told, Erie still needed more information. He needed to know everything from the moment this mutagen had been administered until the moment this wretched man had shown up at his door.

"Are you feeling better now, Kirk?" Waiting until he gained the affirmative, the shrink pressed on, "I need you to tell me everything you remember, including your emotions, starting from when you first took this mutagen."

And like the weak-willed man he was, Kirk did as he was told, elaborating when needed. Fervently, Erie took notes on everything that came out of the scientist's mouth, and formulated conclusions with every iota he received.

As his client began recounting the events of today, the psychiatrist came up with a theory. It appeared to him that high levels of stress tended to occur right before any "changes" happened. So far, this was being based two separate occasions, which was not enough data to truly form this theory. At this point, it would be labeled a coincidence.

But Kirk didn't need to know that.

"From what you have told me, it seems to me that you have these changes whenever your anxiety and stress have exceeded a specific threshold," Erie told Langstrom once the other man finished. "For the time being, we should work on keeping your anxiety to an acceptable limit. Perhaps we may be able to gain some control if and when the next transformation occurs."

"Do you think so?" Kirk asked, giving the more hopeful look the shrink had ever seen.

"I do. Due to how high your anxiety and stress have been over the past two days, I believe a more intensive relaxation technique might be needed to keep you calm, Kirk," he explained. "Tell me, have you ever heard of hypnosis?"

"Hypnosis? Isn't that where you can—"

"That's Vegas, Kirk, not true hypnosis. True hypnosis is more akin to an altered state of mind, like sleep," Erie said. "You can't make people act like chickens. That is a myth. For our purposes, we will only be using it to place you in a state of relaxation. Nothing more. Are you willing to try?"

"Are you sure it will work?" Kirk was almost begging.

"I would not suggest it if I thought of the slightest bit of harm it could cause to you." Erie shook his head indulgently. "Before we begin, I need for you to lie back on the couch and try to get into a comfortable position. Once you do, we can start."

Erie allowed for a few minutes to pass, letting Kirk lay down and get comfortable. Once he could detect no signs of fidgeting did Erie begin reciting a script he had memorized, directing Kirk with the steadiness of his deep voice, describing sensations for the man to feel. He moved Kirk through the exercise, watching keenly as Langstrom's breathing became more steady, his body more limp.

After letting a moment pass where he said nothing, the psychiatrist asked, "Can you still hear me, Kirk?"

A heartbeat passed before Kirk answered in an almost slurred voice, "Yeeesss..."

Turning a page on his legal pad over, Erie gave his next instruction.

"Now, tell me everything about this mutagen of yours."


	17. Getting Dirt

Getting Dirt

Much like the man, Simon Belford's office left a lot to be desired. The man was scum and so was his way-too-humble place of business. It was unkempt and in sore need of a thorough cleaning, especially that one corner that seemed to have a mold infestation.

Yet, here Vicki Vale was, impatiently waiting for the private dick to show up. He was the one wanting this meeting and the redhead was punctual as ever.

Too bad she couldn't say the same about Simon.

With a rattle of the doorknob, the office door swung in and in entered Belford. Unlike the last couple of times they had met, the P.I. appeared absolutely ecstatic. "You won't believe the scoop I've got for you," he proclaimed excitedly.

"You're right, I don't," Vicki replied flippantly, causing the man to drop his joyous behavior as he gave her an annoyed look. "Now tell me why I had to drag myself to this pigsty."

Belford continued to look at her drolly. "It's a good thing you're actually paying me, otherwise I'd kick your scrawny butt out of here." Rolling his shoulders, he slipped his trench coat off and tossed it to a coatrack, the coat hitting it and dropping to the floor. Walking to the other side of his head, Belford placed a camera on top of it as he took a seat in his chair. "You won't believe what I saw last night."

Vicki sighed as she rolled her eyes. "Praytell, what did you see?"

"Well, as you know, I've been keeping an eye on the Thompson clinic for the past week. Just last night, I caught sight of the Bat sneaking in again."

That caused the reporter to perk up. Immediately she was standing in front of the desk, hands pressed down on it as she leaned forward. "You did?" she demanded.

"Oh yeah. He had has little group with him too. He was using one of them to help him inside."

Vicki's mind was a torrent of thought then. When she had woken up this morning, every news station was retelling the events of the night previous, that of the GCPD hunting down the Batman, which resulted in an explosion at a construction site downtown. If what Belford was saying was true, that meant Batman had been injured and was seeking medical treatment from Thompkins.

Oh, what great news this was.

"Tell me you have proof," the redhead pressed. Even if Simon swore up and down about what he saw, if there was no evidence there was nothing they could do. The sly smile on the P.I.'s face told her that he indeed had something.

With his hand, he patted the camera in front of him. "Oh yeah. I took a few pictures of the three of them. I'll have the photo's developed later today, but don't expect a smoking gun."

Vicki stared at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"In order to take these pictures, I had to remove the flash. That muddies up the resolution, especially at night. There was some light, but it's not like we'll be seeing them in HD."

 _Damn it._ And here Vicki was ready to shove those pictures right in Leslie Thompkins' face and watch her squirm. It seemed she was going to have to hold off on that until she got something more substantial and less circumstantial.

Leaning away, the reporter took a seat in one of the chairs in front of the desk, crossing one leg over the other as she leaned back into the seat. "Tell me something: can you bug the clinic?"

"Bug it?" Belford scoffed. "Who do I look like? The FBI? I don't have that kind of equipment nor the money to get any."

Which meant this was a dead end for now. Of course she'd wait for the photos to be developed and perhaps one of them would be worth using. That still left her needing to try other avenues of investigation until something more solid came up.

For instance, Batman had gotten injured in last night's escapade. Vicki was certain that the man would need some time off to recover, which meant he wouldn't be in for work today. Finding out for certain would help improve her theory of Bruce Wayne being the vigilante, showing how his late night activities impacted his day job. This part she could do on her own.

Which left Belford…

"Let me know when you get those pictures developed," she ordered, pushing herself out of her chair before making her way towards the exit.

"You do know these pics ain't free," he called after her.

"Of course I do." Vicki came to a stop at the doorway, looking over her shoulder towards the P.I. "And I'll pay you when they're developed and if they're useful. Later."

* * *

Last night was a heck of a night.

Armed police action and a new candidate was throwing themselves into the race for District attorney. Judge Harkness was now officially aiming for his job in a now three-way race. Harvey knew he had lost more supporters last night than did Weinstein.

Then, over social media, Weinstein issued a challenge to debate all of them. There was a mini-war in the comment section, or so Harvey had heard, about who would win such a debates. Odds were, he was going to have to argue why he should be reelected over both Weinstein and Harkness, and the current district attorney was not looking forward to that.

As for the actions of the GCPD, he was still scratching his about that. Had Gordon decided to go after his staunchest ally, and if so why? The district attorney was going to need to have a little talk with the commissioner about this because he was the last person in the city that Gordon should not be keeping secrets from.

He had so much already on his plate; he didn't need whatever complications came with this.

So, in an effort to get a headstart, Dent had left home earlier than usual, and only after wishing his wife a good day, to head to the office. Who knows, maybe some potential voters would see him, like that he was early to work, and vote for him based on that. Obviously that wouldn't be the case but one could always hope.

As he entered the prosecutor's offices, he strolled his way towards his specific office. Just as he came to the door, he paused, and looked towards his right, raising an eyebrow at what he saw.

"Kate? What are you doing here?" he asked.

The brunette woman looked over her shoulder at him, her lips pressed tightly together. "Harvey? I've been here all night. Just took a nap in the breakroom and I'm heading back. What are you doing here so early?"

Harvey shook his head. "That's not a good habit to be getting into. Take it from me, you shouldn't get into the habit of sleeping here all the time. Go home as often as you can or you're going to burn yourself out."

"I understand. That doesn't answer my questions," Kate pointed out.

"I just got in, I'm entitled to ignoring a few questions first thing," he replied as he turned back to his office and entered. Setting his briefcase down and settling in his rotating chair, the district attorney scanned the face of his desk, eyeing the files that still remained on it that he had neglected to put away earlier.

What should he look at first? Obviously the ones that were relevant for today. Did he need to go to court today? A feeling in his gut told him yes, so that particular case should be the first one he looked at. Where had he put it again?

Shifting through a small stack, the elected official opened and closed the ones that were not the one file he was searching for. Eliminating that stack, he moved on to the next, becoming slightly hopeful at the thick size of the file that rested on top.

He had only barely opened it before he determined that no, this was not the case he was looking for. Putting it to aside, Harvey began reaching for the next one until he came to a sudden stop.

Back to that last folder. The thick one he had just set aside.

Opening it, Harvey couldn't believe that he had just set this one aside. It was obviously _not_ a legal file. Such files didn't have small notes threatening to slip out with the word URGENT written on them. Such files also didn't have ledgers in them.

Opening the first, Dent recognized some of the names in it. How could he not? After all, these were names of several establishments that had been linked to Rupert Thorne in one way or another.

Holy shit, these were Thorne's books!

But how had they gotten here?

Standing up, and keeping his hands on the ledger, he stormed out of his office and into the Pit, eyes scanning over everything until…

"Kate!" he called out.

A few seconds past before the Assistant District Attorney's head popped up. "Yeah?"

"Did you see or hear anyone go into my office?"

"Not that I recall. Why?"

"Come take a look at this." He gestured with his head simultaneously as he spoke. Opening the ledger he held, he waited for Kate to reach his side and let her take a look. Giving her a moment, he then asked, "You know what this is?"

"Looks like some kind of accounting book," the Assistant DA answered, flickering her eyes upwards at him for a second before returning them to the ledger.

"This is one of Thorne's books. One of the ones he wouldn't want anybody finding out about," the DA said. "We got him with this."

"Are you sure?" Kate asked, looking up at him and not shifting her gaze.

"Oh yeah. I know a lot of these places. I also know many of them have connections to Thorne. This is how he's laundering all his money." Harvey's voice continued to rise the longer he spoke. He turned several pages before something caught his eye, something that was more than he could ever hope for. "Here. See that? That's the link we need. That's the link to 'Thorne Enterprises.' Goddamn it, we have him."

"So what do you want to do?" the brunette asked. "Should we get the commissioner in on this?"

Harvey opened his mouth then paused, remembering about the shootout from last night. Things were becoming a bit sketchy at the GCPD. He needed to feel things out first before he brought the cops, and Gordon, in on this. Hmm, that was a thought.

"First thing we do, we make copies," Harvey stated. "We make all the copies we can. Multiples. I don't want to lose this. So we need hard copies, we need digital, anything we can do to make sure no one loses this. This is going to be strictly on a need to know basis. Who knows where Thorne has eyes and ears."

"Alright. I can help out," Kate volunteered. "But what do you want to do after we make copies?"

"That's easy, we figure out how we bring this into court. You better believe that if we don't lose it first, Weinstein's going to do whatever it takes to get them ruled inadmissible."

"How would he do that?"

"Obviously, none of Thorne's men grew a conscious overnight, stole Thorne's books, then snuck into my office and put them on my desk," Harvey remarked. "Someone else, whoever that might be, did, but the key thing is that more than likely, these were stolen. Last I checked, Gotham courts are a bit strict on prosecutors for using stolen workpapers. So we need to find some kind of precedence that trumps any and all objections Thorne's mob lawyers will make."

"That's funny, I heard about a case that had something similar," Kate said.

"Really? What?" Harvey's heart was pounding in his chest in anticipation.

"I'll have to double check, but I think there's this case called De Soto v. Club Ruby," Kate explained. "There were stolen workpapers involved in that, and they were permitted at the trial as the lawyers involved had no hand in the theft of the papers."

"Get me that case," Harvey stated. "We'll start with that as our rebuttal. Let's get on this quickly before something spoils it."

Looks like things were going to be much busier at the office today. Maybe too busy. He would have to let Gilda know something big had come up and—oh! That's right. He also needed to cancel his session tonight with Dr. Erie. As important as his mental health was, taking down Thorne was much more important.

It couldn't hurt to skip one time, right?

* * *

It had been on all the news networks on TV and blowing up on the internet. Last night a serial killer had been captured, though the details about that were sketchy at best.

Under normal circumstances, Tim would have been interested, but for once the sensationalism of such an event could not reach the teen. At least, that was until a call came from a detective informing his parents they had apprehended his aunt's killer.

And that killer was the same serial killer the news was screaming about.

Victor Zsasz.

That was the bastard's name. And wouldn't you know it, Tim could have sworn he recognized him. He looked like the man that he had seen Batman chasing after before things had gotten crazy last night. Then things got even more intense when he found the videos of Zsasz holding a woman hostage in the subway, trying to hold Batman off.

There had been so much he had missed when following after them. If only he hadn't been doing his best to keep enough distance between them and himself, what else could he have seen? More importantly, what else could he have been able to do to really help?

Batman had done what the teen had asked of him. That much was clear. Now there could be justice for his aunt, for his parents. Things could start going back to the way they were.

That meant there was something he needed to do.

It would be a bit of a detour, but he had to do it. Because now that Zsasz was captured, the weight of everything Tim had said and done was starting to weigh on him. Yeah, he was feeling guilty about it and he needed to make amends.

First thing was first, he needed to talk with Dick.

That meant leaving home much earlier than a teen normally would and heading into the inner city, quite some way from school. In fact, it was halfway across town and it was going to be close if he was going to get to class on time. But this needed to be done.

Tim was lucky. He managed to catch Dick as the older man was leaving his apartment. There was no look of surprise or anything on the young adult's face, just this bland expression. The teen didn't know what to make of it, which kinda made him not say anything.

"Aren't you on the wrong side of town?" Dick said more than asked as he began walking around him. With his hands in his pockets, Dick barely grazed his shoulder against Tim as he strolled along.

"This couldn't wait," the adolescent said as he followed after. "I needed to talk with you."

"About what?" The tone of Dick's voice was so neutral, it was really throwing Tim off.

"About…about last night," he said at last. "What I said. The way things went. I wanted to say that I'm sorry about it. It was wrong of me."

"Uh huh," Dick grunted. "That it?"

Tim swallowed. No "apology accepted"? Just an "uh huh"? "I know I've been really out of it. And it caused a lot of problems. But…um…" What could he say now? "They found my aunt's killer," he blunted out more to say something than to lapse into silence.

"Really? Good for you," Dick said.

"Okay, what's going on?" Tim demanded. He didn't like how this was going.

"Why are you wanting to know?" the taller man quipped.

"Dick, come on. I know, I was a pain in the ass and I want to make it up." Tim scratched the back of his head boyishly as he spoke. "I feel bad about it."

"Do you know what the problem is?" Dick asked abruptly. "You were too close to a case and you ignored everything else, and became unreliable as a result. I couldn't count on you to back me up when I needed you to and I can't have that when I'm on the streets. I need someone I know I can count on, who will have my back no matter what is going on. You haven't been good about any of that the last few days."

"Dick, it was my aunt!" Tim protested.

"You want to know something? My own parents were _murdered_ in front of my face. My _parents_. The people I loved more than anything. You barely knew your aunt." Dick was glaring at him, which only made Tim's blood run that much colder. He…hadn't known that. Any of that. Dick had always waved anything about who or what he was before they had joined forces, so this was not a pleasant surprise to find out.

What _could_ he say to that? How could he defend his behavior? The things he had said? Now that he knew this, everything he has said and done became more like…like…like some little kid throwing a temper tantrum. It was not a pleasant feeling for the teen.

"I…I didn't know…" he said lamely, looking away in shame.

"Because I never told you. Maybe I should have said something about earlier." The fire that had been in Dick's voice had been replaced with ambivalence right now. "Doesn't matter anymore."

"It does!" Time exclaimed but then fell silent when he couldn't press his point.

"How?" Dick raised an eyebrow at him and waited. Naturally, the teen couldn't answer that so the young adult continued, "It's in the past. Way, way into the past. I'm more concerned about other things right now."

Now if that didn't sound like the tone of a person trying to diminish something that was obviously important or still powerful in that person's life. However, Tim didn't have a foot to stand on now so he said nothing about it. Instead, he decided to follow the direction Dick's last words were leaning.

"Right. The diamonds. So what are we going to do about that?" he asked.

"We? I'm going to the Birds on this one," Dick replied.

"What?" Tim yelped out.

"Hey, if you can go ask Batman for help, I can ask the Birds of Prey," Dick shrugged. Before Tim could say anything to that, "Yeah, I followed you after you left, saw your meet up with the Bat."

Okay, how had he missed so much? Had he been that much into his own head that he hadn't noticed he was being followed? Damn it, Drake! You really are losing it!

"Can I still help? I mean, we both worked on this, right? No one knows more about this diamond stuff than us?" Now Tim was getting desperate. For the first time, he really felt like things were falling apart and it was happening so fast he couldn't pick up the pieces quickly enough.

"I don't know. Can you help? Because shouldn't you be making sure your aunt's killer gets what's coming to him? I know how close you two were." Dick's words were biting, and Tim may have been hearing things but he could swear he heard some bitterness in there too.

The thing was, try as he might, the teen was having a problem trying to defend himself. Really, he was. But how could he fix things if he bowed his head and left now? He couldn't! Their trio was broken up enough as it was. If their group was to continue, it needed to look at the problems and try to fix them.

Even if one of them was…paralyzed…

"I get it. I've been messing up," Tim said quietly, though he knew the other man heard him. "Yeah, I let this all get to me. What else do you want me to say? How many times do I have to say I'm sorry? Everybody was right, I am too close to this and I'm the smart one of the three of us!"

Dick paused then looked over at him, an eyebrow raised. "You're the smart one? I thought that was Barbara."

"You know what I mean!" Tim said exasperated.

"No, I don't. Why don't you tell me."

Tim was the one pausing now. "You're messing with me now, aren't you?"

"A little bit. I'm still not happy with you," Dick replied.

"What do you want from me? What do I need to do to show you that I want to help? Give you a foot massage?" His words were heated now, but really, what did Dick want? He really was sorry!

"Now that you mention it, my feet have been a little sore, what with following after you…" Dick was looking thoughtful and—oh no. He wasn't really considering!

"No. No way," Tim said.

"Who can't take a joke now?" Dick teased. "Seriously, you want to get back on my good side, you're going to have to earn it. I can't be out there and wonder if you're putting your all into this. What we do, we can't afford to be distracted or we're going to get hurt. And we're not the only ones at risk. The people we love are also at risk. If we're working together, I have to know, really know, if you have my back. If I can't trust you to watch it, then there's no way it'll work."

"I get it, I get it. Just…tell me what you need from me." Now it sounded like they were getting somewhere.

"I need you to get your ass to school, first of all," Dick stated. "Second, I could really use a foot massage. Third, you be ready to head out at eight and no complaints. I'm still paying the Birds a visit and you can tagalong. If I tell you to go home, you go home with no questions or backtalk. If I can use you, then I'll use you, but know you're still on thin ice."

Christ, Dick was really digging into him on this. Still, if he wanted back in, Tim was going to have to take whatever hazing was thrown at him. That meant agreeing to whatever Dick wanted.

"Fine, at the container, right?"

"Do you even have to ask?"

Okay, so that was it. Now to do that first thing and get his butt to school.

But first.

"You aren't serious about that foot massage, are you?"

* * *

Only losers and low life scum drank at this time of day.

They also happened to be Frankie's kind of people.

Mr. Thorne had been clear about this; he could only go to people who would spread the word about what Mr. Thorne wanted and wouldn't have it all over the news or something by the end of the day. Frankie wasn't the smartest guy, but one thing he did know was to know who the guys who were smarter than him were.

Smart guys were the ones you wanted to go to when you had something as important as what Mr. Thorne had told him to do. There were exceptions, like that dumbass lawyer who was running for DA.

Frankie did have a knack for figuring out who the losers were and who the scum were. And scum were who he was looking for. He had been to the usual places, finding the guys who knew how to keep quiet and all. It was barely noon when he reached this particular bar, one that was a few blocks away from a clinic that he had overheard Mr. Thorne being interested in recently.

A quick look was all he needed to find the latest scumbag on his list of scumbags to look up.

"Yo! Simon!" he called out as he swaggered his way over.

Simon looked up at him and grunted, turning back to an untouched—nope, he was throwing back that shot alright. "The hell do you want? Can't you see I'm busy?"

"Right. Busy." Frankie made a show of looking around the joint. "If you call drinking your life away busy. I got something, maybe you can help out."

"Who's it for?" Simon asked, waving a hand to get the bartender's attention.

Frankie didn't answer right away, because Wiseguys answered when they wanted to, not just because they were asked. He took a seat next to Simon and shook his head at the bartender that no, he didn't want anything. Once Simon was served, Frankie leaned in to a side and spoke in a hushed voice."

"For my boss. Mr. Thorne."

Simon didn't freeze up. He just stopped moving. Then he chuckled and said, "Already got a client, Frankie. A pretty lady this time. And no, I'm not shitting you this time. She some kind of reporter. Sure, she's kinda a bitch, but she helps pay the bills."

"Sure she does. But think about this. Whatever this reporter bitch is paying you, it's nothing compared to what Mr. Thorne will pay."

"That right?" Another shot down the hole…

"Better believe it. Now, the only reason I'm telling you about this is because I know you'll keep your mouth shut. And this is something you do need to keep your mouth shut for. See, Mr. Thorne is looking for something, dirt. Dirt on Dent."

"The lawyer guy on TV?" Simon asked. "You know I don't pay attention to that kind of shit."

"Just listen," Frankie growled out. "If you can find dirt, and I mean real good dirt on Dent, you're gonna be looking at, like, seven figures."

Frankie didn't have to look to know that Simon was giving him his full, undivided attention now. "That right."

"Oh yeah. But you can't let anybody know about this. If the wrong person, like that reporter bitch finds out, it'll be bad for Mr. Thorne. Can't have that. So ask around or do whatever it is you do. You find something, bring it to Mr. Thorne, and you'll be taken care of for a long time."

Pulling out his wallet, he pulled out a few bills and placed them next to the man. "Think about it."

Frankie didn't hide the smirk on his face as he heard Simon say one last time, "That right…"


	18. Dealing with Devils

Dealing with Devils

Kirk didn't know why, but even as he arrived back at work the next morning, he still felt relaxed. For the first time in a long time, he felt fully rested and it was great. Perhaps he should have had Dr. Erie do…whatever it is he had done last night a long time ago.

For once, the effects of his mutagen weren't as nerve wracking or fear-inducing. Instead, there was an irrational belief that he would be able to figure out something today, or at least make some headway in correcting this horrifying side effect.

Everything always seemed more in perspective after he had therapy. Even if this sense of hope was temporary, he could definitely use what little time he had feeling it to make some headway.

As the elevator opened to his floor, Kirk found Lincoln March coming to a stop right in front of it, the taller man's eyes lighting up as they fell on him. Lincoln's voice, though, was not the usual jovial tone the scientist was used to.

"There you are, Kirk. We have a problem that I need to discuss with you."

Kirk blinked. "A problem? What kind of problem?"

"A big one," his boss told him. "Your presence is required. This is something that we need to discuss immediately."

Langstrom swallowed nervously as Lincoln turned his back on him, leading the way towards the labs—no, he was taking a sharp left. He was heading away from the labs. The closing elevator doors jumpstarted him out of his surprise and made him realize that he was being left behind. A firm push against the closing doors caused them to reverse and the researcher was walking quickly to catch up.

All the while, the scientist asked questions to himself silently. What kind of problem was there? How serious was it that Mr. March had requested him to come with him? This was coming out of nowhere and Kirk couldn't possibly think of anything that could be a "big" problem. The team was still excited about the serum they had developed…

Wait. What if someone had found out about the side effects? That the serum was less the cure they were looking for and more of a mutagen? How and when did this happen? Had any of the rats changed without his knowledge and spooked someone?

Or…

Whatever relaxed state Kirk had been in was gone. The thought that someone else knew about the transformative effects of the serum made his stomach sink. That thought led to another sickening one, one that nearly shot his stress levels through the roof.

What if someone knew he had taken the serum himself?

Was this what this was all about? Did they know what he had done and what was happening to him? Oh no, this couldn't be! This couldn't be happening, not now! Not when he still needed to find a way to reverse the effects!

Calm down, Kirk. Use those breathing exercise that Dr. Erie taught you. Take in deep breathes. Deep breaths. Make sure your stomach was rising and not your chest. You couldn't lose your cool, and in turn your control. Because what if the transformation really was trigger by stress? By God, he could change right now!

Oh get a grip! Now was definitely not the time. Just keep calm, Kirk. Maybe you're over thinking things. Yeah, yeah you had to be.

"In here, Kirk," Lincoln's voice interrupted his thoughts. The anxious man came to an abrupt stop as he almost ran into the other man. His boss was standing by an open doorway, his body angled in such a way that it indicated Langstrom should go in first. Nodding his head, Kirk entered what was a conference room where four other people were waiting.

Two of them were security personnel. One was…Francine. Okay, what was she doing here? He knew that she had left for work earlier than he had, but right now she looked troubled. Lastly there was one of his research staff. More specifically, it was a man named Arthur Aguilar. What was he doing here?

His thoughts were interrupted once again, this time by Lincoln closing the door. However, instead of addressing him, Lincoln spoke to Arthur. "Well, Arthur? Anything you'd like to say?"

Arthur was silent, his face a mask of stone.

Kirk shook his head before saying, "I don't understand. What's going on here?"

"Arthur here has been a bit of a bad boy," Lincoln explained as he took a seat at the long table that occupied the conference room. "Would you like to tell Dr. Langstrom what you've been doing, Arty? Or would you like me to say it?"

"Say what?" Kirk was feeling less stressed and anxious and more confused with every passing second. Nothing was said after he spoke, Lincoln staring blandly at Arthur, Francine blank-faced, and Arthur sitting ramrod straight in a chair of his own, both security personnel on either side of him.

Finally, "We caught Arthur here with several documents and files that he was not suppose to have access to," Mr. March explained. "All of them involve your project, Kirk."

"Well, he's suppose to have access to the files," Kirk said, his confusion still unabated.

"The files contain the most recent data we've collected from the animal tests," Francine spoke up, her voice firm. She wasn't looking at him, and that specific tone implied something that Kirk knew he wasn't going to like. "It's data only you have authorization for."

Oh. Well. He didn't know what to say to that.

"That's not all," Mr. March continued. "Davis over here caught him trying to send those files out to a right now unidentified agent. He's a double agent, Kirk. He's been spying on us."

It felt like the floor itself had been pulled out from underneath him. Arthur was leaking information about his research to someone else? Who? And why Arthur? Arthur whom he had met in college, and had worked on his dissertation with. Whom he had spent long nights working on compiling data for whatever research projects they had been involved with. And who would turn him against him enough to spy on him?

No. He knew already. There could only be one person.

"How much did he pay you?" Kirk asked, his voice low. His hands had balled into fists as he had put two and two together, and now they were trembling.

"Kirk?" Lincoln asked, turning away from Arthur to look up at him.

Ignoring his boss, Kirk marched over to Arthur and leaned in close, making eye contact with the sitting man. "How much did my father pay you to spy on my work, Arthur? How much?"

"Your father?" Francine repeated, her turn to be confused though only for a moment. Kirk didn't have to look to see recognition dawn on her.

"You're talking about Abraham, right?" Lincoln asked.

"Tell me, Arthur," Kirk continued to press. "How did he get to you? How did he turn you? Damn it, talk to me!"

"Kirk!" Francine exclaimed, obviously surprised at how assertive he was right now.

Arthur, though, was leaning back as if to put whatever distance he could between the two of them. Kirk continued to stare him down, wanting—no, _needing_ —an answer.

Then, "Just enough to cover the bills and then some." It was the closest to an admission of guilt, but Kirk didn't need to know anymore.

At this point, he was recalling the car ride from several days ago and how his father had known so much. Arthur had been feeding him the information, probably the whole time. Arthur had been the one. Damn, Kirk had thought about the possibility that his father had an agent in his research team.

Why hadn't he looked more into it, damn it!

"Kirk. How do you know this?" The researcher felt a large hand gripping his shoulder, tugging him gently to move him away from their captured spy. It was Lincoln, just Lincoln. One of the few people who truly believed in him. He couldn't help it; it all came out.

"My father picked me up the other day and made me an offer. He wants me to take my work and bring it over to Patriarch. He even offered to let Francine come with me," Kirk stated bitterly. "He knew things about the project, things that someone in his position shouldn't have known. I had thought he had maybe turned someone in the team at the time."

"Why didn't you come to me about this sooner?" Lincoln asked, though it was more of a demand than a question.

"We had a breakthrough and I forgot all about it. Until now," Kirk answered, looking Lincoln in the eye.

"And how much did your father offer you to jump ship?" Lincoln asked.

It took Kirk a moment to remember. "I think it was double what I'm being paid now. He extended the offer to include Francine as well. And he put a deadline: the end of the week. He believes that whatever a Langstrom creates should belong to the Langstroms." He added that last part bitterly.

"I see," Lincoln commented as he released the scientist's shoulder. "Have you responded to him yet?"

"No," Kirk admitted.

"Why didn't you tell me about this, Kirk?" Francine asked, butting in. "Is that why you've been distant recently? Why you've been coming home so late?"

Well, it wasn't entirely the reason why he was coming home late, but Francine did not need to know what pickle he had gotten himself into. "I've been going to Dr. Erie to try and work it out. If nothing else to calm my nerves down. I've…been seeing him a lot recently. I just didn't want to worry you, Francine. And you looked so excited. I didn't want to spoil that."

"Tell me everything about that offer," Lincoln interrupted. "Once you do, I think we'll be giving ol' Abraham a call to let him know where he can stick that offer of his."

* * *

Oh, this was a horrible idea. How did Kirk let Lincoln talk him into this? Oh right, because Lincoln had offered to do all of the talking.

"Yes, can you connect me with Abraham Langstrom? This is Lincoln March from Wayne Enterprises. If he asks, tell him it's about Kirk," Lincoln spoke into the phone, speaker mode activated.

It was just three of them now. Arthur had been escorted out by security, though where he was taken exactly, Kirk had no clue. Lincoln had put in a call to Lucius Fox about this and was going to let those at the main headquarters deal with their spy. Francine was by his side now, holding his hand tightly as a show of support.

" _One moment, sir_ ," the voice of a secretary said. Kirk didn't recognize the voice, but he hadn't been anywhere near Patriarch in a long time. Could have been a phone operator at the call center for all he knew. Elevator music played out from speakers in the tabletop phone set that was inlaid in the conference table surface. How could something as mundane as that have any association with someone as cruel as his father?

Every second of this striking contrast was more unbearable than the last. Kirk hoped that for once his father wasn't in the office and a message would be left. Or better yet, no message at all. Why did Mr. March have to be so hotheaded?

" _Langstrom_."

Even though it was over the phone, that took none of the sharpness out of that voice.

"Mr. Langstrom, this is Lincoln March, head of pharmaceuticals at Wayne Enterprises," Lincoln introduced himself.

" _Why are you calling me?_ " What was it with people today and making demands that came in the form of questions? His boss and his father seemed to be skilled enough to do such a thing.

"This isn't a social call, Mr. Langstrom, so I'll get straight to the point. We found a man of yours in my branch. Now, I'll give you he didn't name names so—"

" _Then what is the point of this? I don't have the time to play games with you. Either you follow your own words and get to the point, or I will be ending this call._ "

"I know about your offer to one of my employees," Lincoln stated. "Double the pay for himself and his spouse. State-of-the-art labs. Funding grants that would make the government swoon. I know all about it and I know which project of mine you are targeting."

" _Is that so._ "

"This call is to inform you that your office, while generous, will have to be turned down. The Langstrom cure for deafness will be a product of Wayne Enterprises and not Patriarch Biopharmaceuticals," Lincoln told the older businessman. "We will be dealing with your man in the meantime so don't try and poach from us again, Mr. Langstrom. Give up your venture and we'll sweep this under the rug; nobody else has to know about this."

There was silence on the line. For a moment, Kirk thought that perhaps his father had hung up on them.

" _He's in the room, isn't he?_ "

Dread filled Kirk's body. His heart race increased and his hand tightened around Francine's. His wife moved closer to him, trying to soothe his fraying nerves.

"It is just me in here, Mr. Langstrom," Lincoln lied. "This is between you and me."

" _Right_." A person would have to be deaf not to hear that sarcasm. " _Then be a good errand boy and tell my son this. This is not over._ "

"It is over," Lincoln stated. "Think about who you are messing with. This isn't some third rate company that you're used to picking apart. This is Wayne Enterprises, the _thriving_ relic of Gotham. If you try anything, it won't only be me you'll be dealing with. Within two years, it'll be Patriarch's turn on the chopping block being torn apart by vulture capitalists, you have my word on that. Do the smart thing; drop this. Forget it ever happened. Do you understand me?"

" _You're a cocky little asshole, aren't you._ "

"I can be much worse, Mr. Langstrom. Just take my offer and go pillage another failing company," Lincoln advised.

" _Have it your way, I'll do nothing to interfere with Wayne Enterprises and any products or projects it is working on. Happy, March?_ "

"More than you know, Langstrom," Lincoln said almost cheerfully.

" _You better be careful, March. One day, it'll be you yourself in front of me and you will wish that you never talked down to me. That, I promise you._ "

"Is that so. We'll see about that."

The dial tone was the answer the department head received. Shrugging, Lincoln reached over and ended the call.. Blowing air through his lips, he turned to the Langstrom couple and said, "That went well."

"I think you made him angry," Kirk said softly, eyes lowered.

"I'm not here to make friends with him," Lincoln told him. "Besides, I'm friends with you, right?"

Kirk blinked owlishly and looked up to face the charming smile being thrown at him.

"And as your friend, we don't keep secrets from one another," Lincoln continued. "If your father tries anything, you contact me. You're not alone, Kirk. Let that soak in your brain for a bit and get back to your lab. Bring me some good news so that I can show off in front of Wayne."

While there was a part of him that boded on the threat his father made, that this wasn't over, there was a larger part that felt relieved. So long as he had Francine beside him and a man like Lincoln protecting him, perhaps his days living in fear of his father were numbered.

He did his best to ignore a third part of him that was shrieking, trying to claw its way out of him to take to the skies and fly upon leather wings.

* * *

"Good news, Bruce. Gilda's not here so one of us has a chance of winning today."

Harvey really needed to get better golfing pants but as busy as he was, there was never a chance. So he would continue to be the butt of everybody's joke until he got around to doing that. Not that it would be happening any time soon, since one, he was so busy and two, these were a gift from his wife. He was obligated to wear them.

However, once the District Attorney got a good look at his golfing buddy for the day, any thoughts about pants were gone.

"What happened to you? Did you not get in till late?" he remarked.

The billionaire had bags under his eyes, though he was still dressed to impress. Kind of. There were way too many wrinkles in his shirt and one of his pant legs were pulled up too high, showing off way too much sock. It was like he woke up five minutes ago and dressed three.

"Nothing I can't handle. You should be glad, you're playing with a handicap," Bruce retorted.

"Whatever you say," Harvey replied. "I have no idea what you get up to late at night. Is being a billionaire that tough?"

"Not as tough as your wife's golf game. Speaking of which, you tee off first," Bruce said.

The lawyer would take that offer. It was more out of pity, but hey, he could blame something like the wind if his game was too off. Putting a ball on the tee, he took up his swinging position then gauged the distance to the hole. After that it tiny adjustment after tiny adjustment, looking down at his ball then up to the hole and back to the ball repeatedly.

"Any time now, Harv," Bruce said.

He was still taking too long, it seemed. Fine. Let's do this. He took a swing and sent his ball screaming through the air…and not even getting close to the green. Goddamn it.

"I think the wind was blowing against it," he tried to excuse himself.

"Really? I don't feel anything," Bruce commented.

"Take your swing and we'll see how you'll do, hotshot," Harvey retorted.

Now, if Harvey thought that his shot was bad, Bruce's…well…what could he say about Bruce's? When the billionaire playboy swung his club, his ball did not go in any direction that got it close to the hole. It sliced straight to the right and disappeared into some trees.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked.

"Don't worry about me. Just feeling a bit off, is all."

Was it him or was Bruce squinting? It was probably nothing.

Or maybe it wasn't. The next few swings and the next couple of holes were no better. Harvey knew he wasn't good at this game; his skill was around Bruce's, which meant subpar. But Bruce hadn't been this bad last time. Harvey would have to be blind not to see how bad they were.

Since they were both men, Harvey would give the other man some time to get his game together. Perhaps some chitchat might help.

"Should I be afraid? I don't know what you did last night, but it had to have been something. If it's anything like tonight's debate, I might have to be worried."

"You have a debate tonight?" Bruce asked, frowning.

"Yeah. Personally, I think its been in the works for a while but Weinstein kept it under wraps until now," Harvey explained. "No one gets such short notice about when a debate happens. Wouldn't be surprised if Thorne has some leeway with the broadcasters. Still, I'm not about to let Mort go unchallenged. I may not be ready for it but I'm sure as hell not going to let either of my opponents get the upper hand on me."

"Well, if you're sure about that," Bruce commented. "As long as your debating skills are better than your golf game, it should be cinch."

"You should know by now, golf is not where I excel," Harvey huffed.

"Then why do you play it?"

"Why do _you_ play it?"

Bruce grunted in answer, which pretty much summed everything up about it. They were two men who were involved in an elite, wealthy world that had some fascination with the game. It was unfair, really.

By the fifth hole, Harvey was starting to get a little worried about this billionaire. His game wasn't improving. It was something he had noticed; Bruce always started badly but got progressively better. The district attorney for some reason felt this was on purpose, but he couldn't pinpoint why.

Suspicions aside, he had to ask, "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Just peachy. Let me catch my second wind and I'll show you who's okay," Bruce said challengingly before going up to the tee. A horrible swing later, followed by under the breath swears, made Harvey raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"Maybe those late nights are getting to you," he said dryly.

"Maybe," Bruce grunted as he trudged back to his golf bag, practically stabbing his club into it.

Harvey hmmed thoughtfully. While he had been developing this friendship with Bruce, he was a bit unsure about what he was thinking about doing. Obviously, Bruce was trying to hide something. Since he had been getting to know the wealthy man more and more, he had his doubts that Bruce's late nights happened to involve company.

Certainly, there was the status and the luxury the dark-haired man held that attracted attention from just about everybody, but even a man such as Bruce Wayne had limits. He couldn't go to bed _every_ night with a partner. Even he would have to want to have a night to himself and do…whatever it was that rich men did when alone.

"What's up, Bruce? Something's up," Harvey remarked.

"It's nothing you should worry about, Harvey. You have enough to worry about as it is," Bruce stated after a moment. A long moment.

"You know…" he trailed off thoughtfully. "You look stressed. Like really stressed. Ever thought about doing something about it?"

Yeah, maybe that was it. Bruce was stressed out enough that it was affecting other aspects of his life, including his sleep. Hell, it could also affect a person's love life. Not a good combination for a bachelor.

"Why are you so curious?" Bruce asked, suspicion coloring his voice.

"I'm just concerned, and isn't that what friends do when they see another friend is off their game?" Harvey pointed out. Should he press on with this? To do so would reveal some sensitive information…

But if it was helpful…

"I know I don't look it, what with my job, my beautiful wife, and everything that goes along with those," Harvey began, "but there are times when even I get overwhelmed. So…I see a shrink."

"You?" Bruce blurted out, looking the most surprised Harvey had ever seen him.

"Not so loud!" he hissed. "You want all of Gotham to know? Because I don't."

"Sorry," Bruce apologized sheepishly. "But you? A shrink?"

"We all have problems, Bruce," the district attorney sighed, looking away and out to the course. "Even I do. I did the whole thing, try to hide it, pretend it wasn't there. For a while, it seemed to work. Then it didn't. That's when Gilda convinced me to see a guy she had heard about just once, and to not have her nag me about, I went. It's been real helpful, especially now. Keeps me focused, I'm able to work through some things. Best of all, no knows what I say in there, so I can say things about Weinstein and whoever else is pissing me off and there are no consequences.

"I've been doing it for over a year. A couple almost, now that I think about it. If nothing else, the guy can help you find ways to manage your stress. That way you can start sleeping better at night and not suck so much when playing golf. I mean, you're starting to make me look good at this, and that worries me even more!"

Bruce snorted. "Yeah, yeah."

"Look, I'll give you his name and you can look him up if you want," Harvey offered, turning back to the other man. "His name's Victor Erie, like the lake. Dr. Victor Erie. I'm sure he'd be willing to make some room for you. Not often the richest bachelor in Gotham calls you up, and he has an admiration for that Sigmund Freud guy. So it'll be a match made in heaven."

"And what makes you say that?" Oh, he could feel the skepticism.

"Well, Freud talked a lot about sex, and last I heard stress can really do a number on a guy's ability to come to attention." Harvey let his flicker downwards for a second to emphasize his point.

"Right," Bruce drawled out.

"Just think about it." Harvey shrugged his shoulders as he returned to the golf cart, ready to track a couple balls down.

A moment later…

"You're sure about that stress stuff doing… _that_?"

Harvey smirked.

* * *

Thorne glared at the newspaper, his sight focused solely on the poll numbers. There were many elections happening, but the crime boss's eyes were only on the District Attorney's.

Even with a third candidate entering the race, Dent still led in the polls. It was double digits too. Weinstein was in second place, but he was neck and neck with the new candidate, Judge Harkness. Apparently, there were people out there that didn't like Dent and had been on Weinstein's side only to ditch Weinstein for Harkness. Why hadn't he taken that into account? He had hoped that the judge's entry into the race would hurt Dent more.

Fortunately, with Weinstein being Weinstein, he had challenged his opposition to a debate. The judge was quick to accept and later Dent throwing his hat in. A debate was good, but it could be a double-edged sword.

Because Weinstein was Weinstein. He was great in the courtroom, but outside of it? There was a reason Throne went out of his way to not invite his consigliere to some high society functions along with him.

A knock on his office door provided a good distraction for him. He granted permission and sat back in his seat as Frankie entered, bringing in some lowlife with him. This had better be good.

"What is it Frankie," he prompted.

"Mr. Thorne, this is Simon, a guy I've talked to," Frankie said, introducing his…associate.

"That so? Get to the point," Thorne ordered.

"I talked with him about that guy you have some problems with," Frankie continued. "He got back to me and told me he might have found something."

"Might?" Thorne repeated before turning to this Simon fellow. "Simon, is it?"

"Belford," Simon added.

"Alright, Mr. Belford. Talk to me."

"I tailed the district attorney for a while," Simon remarked, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. "And I saw him go to this one place. Turns out a shrink is running it. Didn't take me long to see him leave the shrink's office."

"A shrink?" Thorne questioned, frowning. Was this the best that Frankie could get a hold of?

"I thought it was important," Frankie stuck up for his…associate. "Sides, don't people tell shrinks stuff they don't want others knowing about?"

Thorne paused at that. Actually, Frankie had a very good point there. How had he missed that? Of course shrinks had confidential information about their patients. If Harvey was seeing one, what dark secrets had he shared with that doc?

"What's the name of that shrink?" Thorne asked.

"I was told that there would be a reward of sorts for this kind of information," Simon quipped.

"It all depends on the quality of information, Mr. Belford," Thorne replied. "You'll be taken care of, you have my word. But first, I need to see the quality of this information personally. If you have indeed found me something, you will never have to worry about another cent ever again."

Simon grunted. "It's a guy called Victor Erie. He's downtown, towards the more posh places that rich people go to. His office is at 819 Hildebrant Avenue, third floor, room 305."

"Very good, Mr. Belford. This might be the start of a good business relationship," Thorne remarked as he shot a look towards Frankie. The hired muscle nodded then led Simon out, leaving Thorne to himself.

Glancing back at the newspaper, Thorne smirked at the poll numbers. Those were meaningless, anyway.

* * *

Barbara rubbed at her eyes, blinking them blearily as she lowered her hands. She stared at the computer monitor blankly, not a single thought crossing her mind.

Then she looked at the small clock in the lower right corner of the screen and groaned.

She had been at this for hours! And what exactly had she been doing? The paraplegic woman had taken her father's lead and had been messing around with her computer. To humor him, she had even installed many of the programs he had purchased for her. That, in and of itself, had taken some time.

Now she was…playing with it all. This morning had started off as it normally did, what with her not wanting to do anything. Even now she did not know how she had mustered the energy to get out of bed and into that goddamn wheelchair of hers. She also didn't remember wheeling herself over to the computer.

But Barbara had ended up wasting most of the day. She had ignored social media mostly, focused more on programming than anything. When she had taken a break from that, she had dared to venture out into chat rooms and the like. She didn't stay long in them.

She had checked out some news websites; that was the only reason why she now knew that Gotham had had a serial killer in it. Funny, that. Then there was a debate for the…district attorney's office? Why would lawyers want to debate about anything? Wasn't that what court was for? A big head scratcher right there.

A loud rumble from her stomach alerted her to the fact that she hadn't eaten yet. Or for the entire day. Wow. Where had the time gone? Oh, and would surprises never stop? She actually felt the desire to eat something.

Pulling her eyes away from the computer monitor, Barbara directed her gaze to her phone. It was so far away.

Eh, there were other ways to get something eat. She could get take out, couldn't she? Let's see, could she…?

Her fingers danced over the keyboard, one hand reaching to the mouse and pressing down on the clicker. Hmm, hmm, hmm, okay, that looked good. A few clicks on the mouse, multiple taps on the keyboard, and god damn, the miracles of technology. She had put in an order to a restaurant she hadn't been to since…a very, very long time.

And she had done it from the comfort of her ho…apartment. She hadn't even needed to use her own voice to do it either. No human contact whatsoever. Well, maybe not entirely; she had put in she wanted it delivered, so someone would be knocking on her door in due time.

What did this all mean, though? Yeah, she had wasted a day doing nothing but programing and messing around on a computer. So what? It didn't change anything, did it? Besides, what was she going to do with this machine anyway? If anything, it was a diversion, something to distract her from her paralyzed state.

Then again, she could use any kind of distraction she could get her hands on. Was this what her father had intended when he insisted on her getting more involved with these things?

Barbara was thinking too much about it. She needed to stop thinking, because when she did think, her thoughts inevitably turned to her legs and how she was unable to use them. If today had showed her anything, it was possible to forget.

Forgetting was something she desperately needed to do.

* * *

They were being followed.

Black Canary resisted the urge to look over her shoulder and give her tail a head's up to her knowing of them. Ever since she and the Birds went on foot, someone had been tailing them. They stayed out of sight, didn't involve themselves when the Birds were putting the beat on some thugs, and continued the chase when the women were on the move again. Katana was aware of them; so was Manhunter. They didn't have to say any words to each other to know they were heading for an area to lay an ambush.

As it so happened, they were on the Cale Anderson building, its neon light sign flashing over and over, proclaiming its name to the city. Immediately Katana made her way to the sign, leaping onto its stand and taking cover behind the sign. Black Canary headed for the roof outlet entrance, crouching behind it as she peered around a corner. There was no telling where Manhunter went, but no doubt she was readying herself for a full out attack.

Fortunately they didn't have to wait too long.

Two figures appeared over the roof's edge, planting their feet on the gravel and came to a stop. Several moments went by where neither of their followers moved, content to holding their position. From her angle, Canary couldn't get a good look at the two, only that one was dressed in dark colors and the other in a brilliant red.

"Uhh, Nightwing?" one of them spoke, "I think we lost them."

The blonde vigilante felt her shoulders sag. Seriously, what were the Batclan boys doing following them? Rolling her eyes, she stood up and moved out of her hiding spot, immediately drawing the attention of the two young men. "What the heck do you think you're doing?" she demanded of them in annoyance.

As if that were a cue, Katana rose up from her perch, Manhunter appearing as well, her staff clutched tightly in her hands. Canary noticed Nightwing immediately eyed the brunette, particularly her weapon. Fortunately he didn't make a move or Manhunter would've had no qualms putting the hurt on him.

"Black Canary, Katana," the older male greeted, no removing his eyes from Manhunter. "You I don't recognize."

Manhunter ignored Nightwing's words. "You know these guys, Canary?" she called out to the blond.

Black Canary nodded. "These are Nightwing and Robin from the Batclan. You might've heard of them. We don't do much business together though, which leads me to ask why you two are following us?"

There was silence between the two men before Robin took a step forwards and said, "We have a case we've been working on that's proving to be more difficult than we anticipated. We were wondering if you could help us out."

The blonde woman raised an eyebrow. "What kind of case?"

"Diamonds," Nightwing answered. "Almost a couple months ago we came across a diamond smuggling operation. We've figured out who's involved with it, but not what they're trying to accomplish with this." There was a glance to Robin that Black Canary was quick to note. "We've got an address of where they're storing all the goods. So far they've got a whole apartment full of boxes of diamonds, and it doesn't look like they have much security. Except it's in a very public place where there are people living there and there's a lot of guys involved. That's why we've come to you."

"So you want more muscle, is that it?" Manhunter interjected.

"It's not a bad idea, really," Black Canary was quick to add before the brunette's words could cause some hurt feelings. Men were pretty sensitive when it came to their pride after all. "Do you have the address on you?"

"1818 Gilmore," Nightwing responded, not the least bit fazed.

A sharp movement from the corner of the blonde's eye drew her attention to Manhunter. The vigilante was looking right at her, realization on her face. "I know that address," she quickly said. "There's a police stakeout going on over there. It's a suspected Thorne operation."

That got everyone's attention. Nightwing nodded in confirmation. "We also managed to figure that out. With something like this, you have to know that Thorne's behind this."

"When is he not?" Manhunter muttered briskly.

"Is their supply there?" Katana spoke up, directing the attention of the conversation to her. "Further investigation needed if so."

"I take it you know about that place as much as we do," Nightwing remarked. "Aside from the stakeout, of course, that leaves all of us with no real idea of everything that's going on there."

"And what have you done to investigate this?" Manhunter countered.

Nightwing looked as if he were going to answer that question, but to Black Canary it seemed he decided not to at the last moment. "We don't have nearly the resources you guys do to actually investigate. Other than tracking some of the men involved, that we know of, and finding where they're hiding the diamonds, we don't know how long they plan to keep them there or anything else. It's why we came to you in the first place."

Well, if there was indeed some diamond smuggling going on, then it had to be stopped. Unfortunately there was an alarming lack of intelligence on this case, something Canary wanted remedied immediately. However, the Birds of Prey had to adjust their own methods of intelligence-collecting, namely because their largest source was no longer a part of the team.

 _Hold on a moment…_

While their split had been amicable, the blonde saw no reason why they couldn't call up Huntress. Because of her family's place in the city, she had all sorts of connections to Gotham's underbelly, which was primarily how the Birds had figured out where and how to strike at the mob families. She could easily find out something at this Thorne building and fill in a lot of the blanks they had on this.

"There's someone we can talk to," Black Canary spoke up, earning everyone's attention this time. "If there's anyone that can find out what's going on at that address for certain, it'll be them." Glancing at the others, the vigilante felt that if they were to be successful too, it would be best if she did the meeting personally. "I'll go talk to them. Manhunter, Katana, keep on with patrol. We'll reconvene here in three hours."

And hopefully she'd be bringing good news with her as well.

* * *

Author's Note: Fun fact, the character Arthur Aguilar is someone I found who used to work with Kirk Langstrom in the comics. Where Langstrom was working with bats, Arthur was working with cockroaches, and yes, he himself pulled a Langstrom, created a mutagen that turned him into a Man-Cockroach-thing. There are no plans to bring that kind of thing into this little universe so don't expect anymore from Arty here. Just a convenient plot devise is all he's going to amount to.


	19. The Diamond Bust

The Diamond Bust

" _...in other news, accused serial killer Victor Zsasz was transferred from the Gotham City Police Department holding cells to Blackgate Prison, where he will be held until his trial date later this year. Mr. Zsasz was escorted under heavy police protection in what we've come to find out was a midnight transfer. Lawyers for Mr. Zsasz were outraged by—"_

Bruce watched the news report, the glow of the large computer screen bathing him in a dim green light. His head was less foggy than it had been, and his sensitivity to light was nearly gone. That still didn't stop him from squinting his eyes somewhat as his eyes adjusted from the dull lighting of the cave to the brighter light of the supercomputer.

"— _to which Judge Harkness has sustained and ordered a psychiatric evaluation to be performed on Mr. Zsasz. Blackgate officials have declined to reveal the identity of the psychiatrist who will perform the evaluation, but we will update you as this story progresses."_

Bruce's eyes narrowed for a different reason this time. Already he could see where this "psychiatric evaluation" was going. Zsasz or his lawyers were trying to get him to Arkham, much like Jonathan Crane and Jervis Tetch had done. It seemed the young man needed to find out who this shrink would be and find out if there was a way to prevent that from happening.

Still, there was a thought now. Considering Zsasz's mental state, it stood to reason that the man had seen a psychiatrist at some point, if only to make sense of the murderous thoughts in his head. Obviously that shrink had failed to treat him, but if there was anyone that could determine that Zsasz belonged in Blackgate, it would be him.

Of course, any records of seeing such a doctor would be classified. The doctor-patient relationship prevented open discussion on the case, even to the point of the psychiatrist having to deny involvement with the client. However, just because the doctor couldn't talk didn't mean his money couldn't.

Opening up a program, Bruce put in the command to open up Zsasz's financial records. In this day and age, cash was being used less and less, allowing for easier tracking through credit cards and debit cards. Checks, though easier to trace than cash, had fallen by the wayside as well. Considering that Zsasz had been staying in one of his victim's apartments prior to his capture, not to mention his past history of gambling debt, it was very likely the man had a large credit debt as well.

Seconds passed by and the billionaire's hunch proved correct. With the program completing, a window with all of Zsasz's past transactions appeared, the latest one occurring nearly six months ago. Leaning forward in his seat, Bruce read each and every line. It seemed Zsasz had been living quite mundanely before he went on his killing spree. Gas, groceries, and bar tabs were primarily on his credit bills. Further reading showed larger transactions to a few casinos as well.

And then he found something. While most of the other payments were large, this one was small, insignificant even. It was for a measly $225, but it went through a private card reader, one belonging to a Victor Erie.

That caused Bruce to frown. _Dr. Victor Erie?_

If he wasn't mistaken, wasn't that the same psychiatrist Dent had recommended to him? Why would Dent and Zsasz be seeing the same man?

Another thought occurred to him. Fingers dancing over the keyboard, Bruce sought and obtained access to Blackgate prison. Even though it hadn't been revealed to the press who would be evaluating Zsasz, it was very likely they had already contacted someone. The question was who.

He found it a moment later. While searching for Zsasz's new case file, he found that someone had indeed been contacted for the serial killer's psychiatric evaluation.

Dr. Victor Erie.

Once was happenstance. Twice was coincidence. Bruce refused to search for a third, making it a pattern. He needed to find out everything he could on this Dr. Erie.

However, before he could even input a command, a new window opened up, a grid for frequency and voice recognition appearing. _"Batman, this is Huntress."_

Staring at the window, Bruce debated whether to answer to call or not, ultimately deciding to. "This is Batman."

" _Listen, there's something big going down tonight. I just finished talking with Black Canary and there's something about diamonds being smuggled into Gotham. They want to know if we want in on the action."_

"They?" Bruce couldn't help but question.

" _Yeah, the Birds of Prey and the Batclan are teaming up on this. BC came to me to see if I knew anything about the building in question. I thought it was something you should know about."_

While the young man knew the other vigilante groups were as active as ever, he hadn't been keeping up with their various projects. The Birds of Prey had turned their sights towards Thorne the last couple of months, though that was more from the lack of other Mob Bosses at the moment. As for the Batclan, they were still adjusting to being a duo versus a trio. Regardless, this diamond thing was news to him.

He must have remained silent for longer than he thought. Huntress had grown tired of waiting for a response and was talking once more. _"I don't know about you, but I'm going to join them. If this is as big as they're saying it is, and if Thorne is fully invested it in, we can deal a serious blow to him."_

That shook Bruce out of his reverie. "Did they give you an address?"

" _1818 Gilmore."_

"Meet you there."

* * *

"Remember Harvey, stick to the issues, watch out for any traps, and for the love of God, do NOT make any gaffes. Social media will tear you apart for that."

"You don't have to keep reminding me every five minutes, Carlos," Harvey told his campaign manager. The dark haired man, who for some reason always wore dark lens spectacles, continued to fret in his somehow calm-sounding way, Dent beginning to tune him out as he did.

They were leaving his dressing room and heading towards the main stage. Technicians were running about, making any last second changes or checking on all the equipment. Up ahead, a well-lit room await for the debate that was about to be held. The chatter from those in attendance could be heard even from where they were.

Tonight he was set to take on his rivals and prove to the people who watched who was better qualified for the job they all wanted. With Judge Harkness, the district attorney he could expect some kind of fairness from her, though he knew she wouldn't hesitate to pounce on him at the first opportunity. Mort Weinstein, on the other hand, dirty from the first second. He was going to do some serious mud throwing.

Carlos was right, he needed to stay on the issues, focus on the questions and his opponent's answers, and do or say nothing stupid. No pressure, right?

"You're going to do great," Gilda's sweet voice cut in throwing Carlos' warnings as she dusted off invisible dust particles from his shoulders. "Remember your first election? It'll be easier than that because you have proven yourself. You have a record none of the others have. You'll be fine."

"Thanks," Harvey smiled. "But I could still do with a little good luck, right? Give me that good luck charm you gave me last time."

"Oh, but you're a big boy. I don't think you need it," Gilda teased.

"Why leave it to chance?" he jested as he leaned in and pecked her lips.

"Knock them dead, Harvey," Gilda said in a soft voice, echoing the words she had told him so many years ago when he was a hotshot lawyer making a bid for the district attorney's office.

"You bet I will," he replied.

"Just don't get carried away," Carlos warned. "Keep your cool. Don't let them get to you."

"I got it, Carlos, I got it."

Squaring his shoulders, Harvey parted from his support team and took the final steps towards soundstage. He would march towards whatever destiny had in store.

* * *

Gilmore Street was located in one of Gotham's many residential areas. This one in particular resided in one of the poorer neighborhoods towards the East Side. The building at the address in question was one step above government housing, and two steps above being condemned. It was a ten-story building, balconies forming rows on all sides of the structure, a few missing here and there, windows typically separating each one. There was a courtyard out front, but trash and litter, along with untrimmed grass and a rusted car on blocks, gave it an unwelcoming feel. This place personified the ghetto.

And it was on a roof next to this place that a group of vigilantes waited. Black Canary looked out at the place, arms crossed over her chest. Manhunter was leaning up against a nearby roof access structure, Katana crouching on the brick-and-mortar railing of the ledge.

Off to the blonde's left were the members of the Batclan, Nightwing and Robin. It wasn't surprising that Batgirl wasn't around considering the rumors Canary had been hearing lately, especially the ones of a girl running with the Bat. She had wanted to ask the boys about this, but she got the feeling that was a sensitive subject for them and left it alone. Currently the young men were talking in hushed whispers with each other, paying the Birds of Prey no mind.

That just left the last person to be showing up.

Black Canary was admittedly anxious about this. It had been awhile since she had worked with Huntress, not to mention it being the first time she'd meet her replacement in Manhunter. Manhunter was nonchalant about meeting her predecessor, but there was no telling how the purple-clad vigilante would handle it. If there was one thing she knew about Helena, it was that her emotions were volatile at the best of times.

The blonde held back a sigh. Huntress was at least playing a part in this raid of theirs. She was going to be handing out intel on this place with a potential destination for them. That earned her a role in this.

"How much longer are we going to wait here?" Manhunter suddenly asked, breaking the silence around them. "Shouldn't this friend of yours have already arrived?"

"Patience," Canary quickly replied. "She'll be here, don't you worry."

"I'm not worried," she heard the brunette mutter. "But I'd rather not spend the entire night waiting."

It was then she heard the flapping of cloth, followed by the crunching of gravel somewhere behind her. _She's here._ Black Canary resisted the urge to add, _About time too._ They needed to be civil here.

Turning around, Black Canary caught sight of her old friend, the dark-haired woman walking from the far side of the roof towards her. However, she wasn't alone, much to the blonde's surprise.

Looming over her right shoulder was Batman, looking much like the wraith he portrayed himself to be. Out of the corner of her blue eyes, Canary caught sight of Katana perking up at the sight of the vigilante, Manhunter's mouth dropping open in astonishment. Out of the other, Nightwing and Robin stiffened, something that drew the blonde's interest. If she wasn't mistaken, they weren't too happy about seeing the Bat.

However, it was the person hovering behind Huntress' left shoulder that drew Black Canary's interest. A young girl wearing the Bat-emblem silently walked, her entire face covered by a mouthless mask. So this was the rumored Batgirl she had heard about. She gave her the creeps to be honest.

Yet, she knew that this wasn't the same Batgirl she had met during the Talon Attacks. This one was smaller and thinner whereas the original had a more athletic build, not to mention flaunted her red hair.

What the hell had happened?

"Long time no see, BC," Huntress greeted her before tilting her head to a side, "Katana. How have you two been?"

"Uhh, busy," the blonde stammered out just as the purple-clad woman and her Bat-entourage came to a stop in front of her. "How are you doing?"

"Good, all things considered." Huntress looked to her left and spotted the Batclan. "Boys," she acknowledged them.

Then, she looked to Manhunter. "And I don't think I've seen you before."

Manhunter straightened herself out, masking her earlier surprise behind a look of challenge. "The name's Manhunter."

"Pleasure." Huntress then looked back at Canary. "I'm sure you all know Batman and Batgirl, so there's no point in introducing them. Let's get down to business."

Business…that was a safe topic, one Black Canary was quick to jump on. "We were waiting to hear your intel on the place. What can you tell us about it?"

"I know the place we're after is on the seventh floor," the purple-clad woman responded as she stared out at the building in question. "That wasn't easy to find out, mind you. It took some time to find a guy with loose enough lips. There's a lot of people around here that don't like to even mention this place. But, if you flash enough green, someone will admit something."

Ah, so Huntress bribed a possible worker here. For some reason the blonde felt that was something she or one of the others could have done.

"That's it? You bribed the guy?" Manhunter questioned.

"Well, I might have also hinted that a cousin of mine would break his legs since he owed him a bunch of money."

Hmm, okay, threatening someone with a known mob connection was perhaps out of their area of expertise.

"How do we know this intel is good? He could've just said anything to get you off his back."

A smirk appeared on Huntress' face. "I also put a tracer on the guy. He works in the room we want and he went right for it. Seventh floor." Her smile grew bigger then. "That's not all either. I spent a good part of the day watching this place. I can tell you for certain that at least two of Throne's lieutenants are here. They haven't left since they arrived."

"Wait a minute, you bribe and threaten this guy, yet you still put a tracer on him?" Manhunter retorted. "Why did you waste all that time when you could've just planted the bug from the beginning."

Huntress gave the brunette a look. "If you met this guy, you'd know you couldn't trust him to know the color red, much less tell the truth. I made sure that I know he at least worked in that building before tracing him, otherwise it'd be a wasted effort."

The reprimand aside, this was big news. If they busted these guys here, they had a strong leverage on Thorne, maybe enough to get an arrest warrant on him. "How should we do this then?" Black Canary asked then. "We stay together or should we split up?"

"Two teams," Batman answered her, taking over the discussion. "One comes in from the north side of the building, the other from the south. Both main exits are on those sides of the building. We'll want to pincer them in so that way they can't escape."

That wasn't a bad plan at all. That just left who their teams would be. "Since you and Huntress seem to know the layout of this place, I say you both lead the different teams."

Huntress was quick to nod her agreement, Batman doing the same at a slower pace. "Batgirl will be with me," the Dark Knight replied.

"So we're picking teams, huh?" the purple-clad vigilante spoke, giving an amused look to the man. "Then I'll take Katana. No sense in having all the deadly ladies on one team."

That was fine and all, but this could take a lot longer than it needed to be if they were going to pick teams like they would for a game of pickup basketball. So Black Canary decided she'd head off that premonition. Assuming things hadn't changed much since the Talon Attacks, she felt it would be a good idea if the teams were at least familiar with their teammates to lessen any awkward chemistry issues. "Nightwing and Robin should also be with Huntress and Katana. Manhunter and I will be with Batman and Batgirl."

There was a silent moment before Huntress looked to Batman and said, "I don't have a problem with those teams."

Not seeing any resistance from the Bat either, Canary then announced, "Then let's get this mission underway."

* * *

Lights beamed down on the stage where three podiums were placed. The colors red, white, and blue were schemed about, probably to invoke an unconscious feeling of patriotism. Beyond the stage, there was less lighting for the audience that would view the proceedings. The only other area that had any kind of lighting to it was a moderator's desk.

Somehow they got a man called Jack Ryan to be the moderator. Harvey Dent wasn't too sure who he was, but from the introductions made about him, he was a television personality, the visual face of Gotham news.

With his hands placed on top of and to the sides of his podium, Harvey gazed out at the much larger than expected crowd. Apparently, there were more people than he thought who were interested with this race.

One thing he had noticed as he had been directed out onto the stage was that he was on the podium closest to stage right. Completely opposite to him was Judge Harkness herself, dressed to impressed with a blouse and skirt combo, completed with a light, woven jacket. In the podium that was situated smack dab in the middle of the stage stood none other than the man of the hour himself, Mort Weinstein.

Harvey knew there was no mistake made with the placement of the candidates. Usually it was the candidate who was leading in the polls who took the center podium. Weinstein was a definite second place. No, this was a way to influence voters on a subconscious level, of that he was certain.

Well, Harvey couldn't let the scheme weasel get away with this.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is Jack Ryan here at the Crowne Plaza Center," the moderator introduced, his face angled towards a camera positioned in front of his desk. "Tonight we have the candidates for Gotham City's District Attorney. They will debate their policies, their experience and accomplishments, and of course, why you should vote for them. Make sure to keep an eye on the Tweet feed, and other social media outlets. This should prove to be an exciting night.

"To the left, we have our current District Attorney, and running for re-election, Harvey Dent. In the middle we have Mort Weinstein, one of Gotham's most notable defense attorneys. Lastly, we have Judge Susan Harkness, a recent addition to the race but making waves already.

"Candidates? Are you ready?"

"You bet," Harvey answered, ignoring the responses from his two opponents.

It was show time.

* * *

Huntress was not a stupid person. Though she tended to relish in the moment of pure violence, she wasn't blind to everything that was going on around her. She noticed when the rest of the Birds were watching her every move. She noticed how Batman always kept an eye on Batgirl during their patrols, not so much wary as much as analytical.

She noticed how uncomfortable Nightwing and Robin were together.

It was strange. The two had always seemed the best of friends. They joked, they teased, they tried to outdo each other. Now it was as if they were on edge around each other. If she weren't mistaken, they were acting just like the end of her time with the Birds of Prey.

If Katana had noticed, she hadn't indicated as much, the Asian woman leading their group up the north staircase. She had yet to draw her sword, keeping a hand at the hilt and her other on the railing next to her. Perhaps that was the way to go, focusing on the mission rather than worrying about the undercurrents of their teammates.

Yet, if it was one thing Huntress had learned during her time as a vigilante, it was that personal issues that crept into business always had a detrimental effect. A resolution was going to be needed, though now was probably not the time for it.

For some reason, Huntress had a feeling she needed to be the one to talk to them about this.

A sign reading 3rd Floor greeted them as they reached the top of the flight of stairs. So far their presence had gone unnoticed. There had been some difficulty entering the building, what with the security cameras watching the door. It had been Robin's idea to turn the camera away from its angle at the door using a tree branch. They had made the effort to make it look like the branch had snapped off the nearby tree and collided with the camera. Once they had entered, they immediately moved into the stairwell, narrowly avoid detection by a guard sent to investigate. Their ruse had worked if his report on his walkie-talkie had been any indication.

"Any idea how many people are going to be up here?" Nightwing asked, breaking the anxious silence between all of them.

"No clue," Huntress admitted softly. "Though I'd imagine most of the floor will be guarded. No way do you leave a room's worth of diamonds without someone protecting them, especially with the workers."

"So how are we going to approach this?" Robin pressed. "Are we going to sneak our way through or do an all-out assault?"

The purple-clad woman knew what her preferred option was, but that wouldn't fly with the crew she was with. If anything it was more prudent to go in with stealth; at least that way they'd decrease their chances of casualties. Robin was the younger, more inexperienced one, even if he had been part of the founding of the Batclan. Nightwing she was sure was a competent fighter, but her impression of the younger male was not a good one.

"We'll determine that once we reach the floor," she answered as they passed the 4th Floor landing. "We'll need to coordinate with Batman's group as well to make sure we know how we're herding these people."

* * *

"I'll admit, these past few years have been eventful," Harvey admitted, answering the first question that was presented to him. "We've had the rise and fall of crime families, terrorist attacks, a damn alien invasion," he paused to allow some chuckles to escape the audience, "and an urban legend or two come to life. But we shouldn't let those things get to us. I know during my time as District Attorney, I haven't. I've taken everything that has come my way and I've done what I do best, take criminals off the hands of the police and send them to prison.

"It hasn't been easy. What I can say that at no other time has the relationship between the Gotham City Police Department and the D.A.'s office been closer. With every day, we strengthen our ability to make this city safer."

"And persecute upstanding members of the city while you're at it," Weinstein cut in. "There has been a noticeable drop in wealth in this city since you came into office."

"You would know, wouldn't you, Mort? Some of those members were _your_ clients," Harvey shot back. "A person doesn't have to wear a ski mask or hold a gun to break the law. Sometimes you wear a suit while you're robbing someone of their savings. Not all crooks break in and sneak into someone's home in the middle of the night."

* * *

There were two sets of footsteps being made in the stairwell. They bounced off the cement walls, echoing back.

The only problem was that there were four people there.

Black Canary was a little unnerved. She could hear every step she and Manhunter made, but there wasn't a single one made from either Batman, or Batgirl. They ascended the stairs silently, more like ghosts than people. Faintly the blonde woman wondered where she could learn to do that.

So far they were planning on getting into contact with the Huntress' group once they were in position outside the seventh floor. Turning on the landing at the fifth floor, she eyed Manhunter following her, Batman and Batgirl pulling up the rear. Part of her wondered when they would talk to each other since not a word had been spoken since they entered the stairwell. Another part pictured that this was how the Bats operated, not bothering to speak unless necessary. That seemed to fit their style quite well.

Reaching another landing, Black Canary quickly climbed to the one at the sixth floor, not even pausing as she mounted the next set of stairs. However, it was when she reached this landing that she caught sight of only Manhunter behind her, the door to the sixth floor slowly closing as the last vestiges of a dark cape fluttered through the doorway.

 _What the hell?_

Manhunter noticed her hesitation and turned to look, her head jolting at their missing comrades. "Where did they—" she hissed.

Canary brushed passed her friend, quickly heading to the door, pulling it open. Thankfully, she immediately caught sight of the Bats not too far away.

"What are you doing?" she demanded in a stern, low voice. Batgirl was the only one to turn to look at her, Batman not even bothering to acknowledge her words until he spoke.

"Something's not right."

Black Canary frowned. "What's not right?"

Batman just continued to silently walk the hall. He didn't bother to open any of the closed doors. However, there were a few doors that were open further up, light pouring out into the corridor. It was to these open rooms Batman headed towards.

"We can't afford a detour," Manhunter suddenly hissed in the blonde's ear. "We need to get to our position."

She was right. Black Canary picked up her pace until she reached Batman's side, just as they reached the first opened door. "Batman, I'm not sure what's going on, but…"

She trailed off. Her eyes widened as she looked through the doorway. There was a man with his back to them, his attention obvious on something else. He then turned away and headed somewhere else in the room. However, that just left several long tables situated in the middle of the room, piles of sparkling diamonds resting on velvet cloths.

The blonde was so focused on the sight, she couldn't tear her eyes away until she caught movement from the Bat. He was turning to look to the doorway on the other side of the hall. Following him, Black Canary saw a similar scene in the new room.

A myriad of thoughts rushed through the vigilante's head. This wasn't the seventh floor like they had been told. Huntress' source had to have lied, that was the only explanation she could think of. That, or there was more to this diamond operation than they had been led to believe.

Honestly, she didn't know what to think.

"We need to regroup," Batman said softly, so as not to alert anyone to his voice. "We're heading to the northside."

Okay, regroup, that was a plan she could get behind. Beginning to walk, the four made their way down the hallway. Again, there were only two sets of footsteps being made, no matter how softly they were attempted to be. Canary soon found herself leading their group again, the two Bats behind her, and Manhunter taking up the rear.

However, they were maybe halfway down the corridor when a door up ahead swung open and two men appeared, each with a submachine gun hanging from their shoulders by straps. "—and then I said, they ain't no horse, that's a…"

The talking man stopped the moment his eyes fell on the four vigilantes. "Holy shit!" he exclaimed, "it's the Bat!" This was followed by both men scrambling to grab their guns and fire them at the heroes.

Black Canary reacted instantly. Not waiting to be fired upon, she darted to her right, kicking her right leg up and slamming her foot against a nearby door, kicking it in as pieces of the doorframe went flying into the room. Dashing through the doorway, the lithe form of Batgirl hot on her heels, the two women found themselves in another room, only this one lacked the tables of diamonds.

Instead, there were a couple of small, square tables, several men seated in chairs around them. All of them froze as they stared at the two women, a couple with red plastic cups in hand, one taking a bite out of a sandwich, and one group with cards in their hands.

Oh, this was just getting better and better.

* * *

Without a second thought, Manhunter grabbed onto the broad shoulders of Batman pushed him into the open doorway to their left. The vigilante practically lunged through the doorway, the two falling to the floor with the Dark Knight landing on his stomach and the brunette on top of him.

A second later and the unmistakeable sound of machine gun fire rang out.

Looking over her shoulder, Manhunter could see bright flashes against the walls of the hall, streaking lines of bullets flying by. Though they were safe for now, it was only a matter of time before the shooters went searching for them and found them like sitting ducks. They needed to regroup and come up with a plan to take them out.

That was when she felt Batman stiffen beneath her. "Where's Batgirl?" he demanded.

A quick glance around the room told the brunette woman that neither Batgirl or Black Canary had followed them in here. They must have gotten separated, damn it. Unfortunately, whatever surprising concern the dark-clad vigilante had needed to be shelved for the moment; they had their own lives to worry about.

"I don't think we have time to worry about her," she retorted even as she thought of how to put some distance between the gunmen and them. From what she could tell, there were no other exits to the room, no extra doors or even windows. That meant they needed to make an exit.

"Hold on to your kester," Manhunter warned as she held up an arm. A portion of her gauntlet rose up, revealing twin barrels. Though it had the appearance of a gun, it was anything but. This handy little device was designed for blasting apart heavy duty locks and steel doors.

A wooden floor, however, would suffer its wrath.

Throwing her arm down, the moment her fist hit the floor the lock blaster fired. Instantly, the floor shattered into pieces of jagged debris, a hole encircling the vigilantes as they fell through it. Using gravity and the benefit of no longer being held to the ground, Manhunter leaned back so that she could land on her feet. Batman seemed to have the same idea as he did the same thing, the two crime fighters landing crouched on their feet.

The room they found themselves in, aside from the mess, was just like the previous room they had been in. Peeling, dingy wallpaper, wooden floors, and a couple of empty tables devoid of diamonds. One difference though was that there were two doors, one Manhunter suspected led into a hallway; the other looked more like it went into another room.

"What the hell are you doing?" Batman demanded as he spun around to face her. The look on his face was hardened into a scowl and an unpleasant one as that.

"Getting us out of that mess," Manhunter was quick to retort, not taking kindly to his attitude. "Those punks up there were going to realize that we weren't in front of their barrels and were going to come find us. Instead of letting them find us in a compromising position, I opted to make an exit for us."

There, let him chew on that. So far from what she had seen, this "legendary Dark Knight" wasn't all he was cracked up to be. She had saved him and he hadn't so much as offered a thanks, or even attempted to be of assistance. Talk about living off one's reputation.

Spinning around, Manhunter marched over to the door she believed led into another room. There was a hole over their heads after all, and even punks could shoot through that. If they didn't seem either of them, they were either going to send a search team, or come down themselves. When that happened, she wanted to be ready.

Reaching the door, she swung it open. The room behind it was a much larger one, stacked with crates up and down the walls. There was even a metal desk close by. It seemed this was more of a storage room if anything.

There also happened to be five men with automatic weapons staring right back at her.

 _Oh shit._

* * *

"You say that the relationship between you and the police has made this city safer, but what about what happened last night?" Weinstein challenged, a slight tone of mockery in his voice. "If that's the case, the police looked like they were trying to be the Gestapo. Explosions and gunfire in the middle of the night? It doesn't sound like this city is any safer."

"The stat guys would beg to differ," Harvey retorted, gripping the sides of his podium tightly. He knew what Weinstein was trying to do. He was trying to use the Nazi card to damage him. "Just this year alone, crime has dropped by nineteen percent. The year before it was twenty-three."

"What does that even mean? How do you know crime has fallen nineteen percent? People are still getting mugged out there!" Weinstein argued. "Nineteen percent? What does that look like? Tell me, Dent. Because I don't think the people of Gotham agree with you. They don't see a difference."

"I have seen a steady increase of men and women through my courtroom," Harkness cut in. "Harvey Dent has been making good on his promise to be tough on law breakers, but I have too many innocent people come before me. People who were innocent of the charges pressed against them. Many of them are lower income citizens, and unable to access high priced attorneys like Mort Weinstein who won't lift a finger to help them. We need to enforce our laws, but not at the risk of depriving innocent people their freedom."

A backhanded assist there. It was a reminder to Dent that he had two opponents to face, and one was setting two of them up. An interesting strategy, but one Dent refused to play along with.

* * *

They were set. The rest of the climb up to the seventh floor landing had gone off without a hitch. "We're in position," Huntress spoke into her comm., then waited for the corresponding reply.

It never came.

After several moments had passed, Huntress had begun to frown. The second team should've responded by now, either by saying they too were in position, or were almost there. This radio silence was unnerving.

"Team 2, come in," she pressed, staring at the door in front of her. Katana was off to her right and behind, Nightwing to her left. Robin was most likely somewhere behind her, pulling up the rear. They were ready to storm the floor once they got they call. The constant silence only taunted them with uncertainty.

"Do you think something happened?" Robin finally suggested softly, earning himself the attention of the group.

As much as she didn't want to admit it, the purple-clad woman knew that was a strong possibility. As if in answer, the sound of gunfire going off below them caused them all to jerk their heads to look over the railing.

"I think that's a yes," Nightwing supplied.

"That's below us," Huntress said. Someone must've caught them by surprise on the stairwell…at least that was her first impression. She knew gunshots though, and she knew that the sound of those fired shots was too loud, meaning they were closer to their side of the building than the second teams.

Then, as if to make matters worse, the door in front of them swung open, revealing a startled guard.

 _Holy Hell._

"Holy shit!" the man exclaimed as he grabbed for his sub-machine gun. There was no time to disarm him, not to mention to risk that he could still get a shot off even if she did rush him. So Huntress grabbed the door and swung it closed, a loud _bang!_ echoing throughout the stairwell.

Without hesitating, Huntress dove to her left, grabbing onto Nightwing's arm and dragging him with her, the two landing on the stairs. Less than an instant later, machine gun fire rang out, the bullets exploding through the door.

Though they were clear of the shots, Katana and Robin weren't. Horror filled the dark-haired woman as she knew she'd be watching two humans become Swiss cheese before her eyes. That was a short-lived fear as Katana spun around and pulled Robin to her. Lifting him right off the stairs, she hopped onto the railing before dropping off of it, disappearing from sight.

"Robin!" Nightwing shouted, making to move towards the railing. The only thing that stopped him was Huntress pulling him back onto the stairs they laid on.

"Don't!" she ordered him sternly. "You go that way and you're asking for a bullet to blow your brains out. Robin'll be alright with Katana; right now we need to worry about ourselves."

Nightwing stared at her hard before he slowly nodded his acceptance. Unfortunately, that was when the gunfire stopped, the two returning their attention to the door. Roughly, the door was shoved opened again, swinging towards the two vigilantes.

Immediately, Huntress kicked a leg out, her foot hitting the door and causing it to swing back. There was a surprised cry as the door hit the guard, right before he pushed it back open. Again and again, Huntress kicked the door back, hitting the man time after time as he tried to force his way into the stairwell.

"Go up!" she demanded to Nightwing, who pushed himself on his feet and began sprinting up the steps. Giving the door one last kick, the purple-clad woman did the same and began scrambling up the stairs.

Just as she got to the landing, spinning around to continue her ascent, she caught sight of the guard finally standing on the previous landing, shoving a new clip into his gun.

Scowling, Huntress shot up the next set of stairs even as she reached to her belt and pulled out one of her personal shurikens. As she reached the next landing, she spun around just in time for the guard to appear in her sight. Without hesitating, she sent the H-shaped projectile spinning through the air, watching as it collided with the guard's hand and knocked his gun out of his hands, a pained cry escaping his lips.

Leaping off the stairs, Huntress soared through the air as she extended both of her legs out in front of her, keeping them pressed together. A moment later and the bottom of her boots collided with the guard's face, knocking him back into the wall behind him. There was a sickening crack, most likely his skull fracturing from being rammed into the wall, but the vigilante found she couldn't have cared less. The two landed on the landing, the guard in a heap while Huntress with her feet.

Now that he was taken care of, she needed to go after Nightwing.

* * *

Air rushed by Katana's head, her hair waving up and above her head. Robin clutched tightly to their body as they dropped down the opening in the stairwell.

The railing of one of the landings was drifting towards them, one that Asian woman was fully intent on using. Leaning forward, she reached out with a hand and grabbed onto the railing, her momentum causing the two to swing towards the set of stairs. Shooting out her legs, her feet hit the concrete of the stairs and she immediately pushed off while setting go of her grip. This sent the two flipping head over feet to the other side of the stairwell

And just as she planned, right through the gap between one level of stairs and the railing of the one below. With practiced ease, Katana landed on her feet, feeling the jolt of the landing through her legs, but nothing more. Glancing to Robin, she made sure he wasn't hurt, satisfied to see he wasn't.

However, he did look shook up. "That was…wow…" he said dazed.

There was no time for that. "Come," the dark-haired woman said as she pulled away from the younger man, grabbing onto a nearby door. The number 4 had been painted onto its surface, Katana making the assumption that this was the fourth floor.

Her words must have reached Robin as he snapped out of his trance. "What about Nightwing and Huntress?" he asked worriedly. "They need our help."

"They can handle selves," was her quick reply. Opening the door, she then continued, "We need to protect us. Find safe place to hide and recover before calling out to other teams. We can act accordingly then."

Robin slowly nodded his head. "Okay, yeah, this is just a strategic retreat, that's all," he murmured to himself as he walked to the Asian woman, passing through the doorway. She didn't say anything to that, merely following behind him. Huntress could take care of herself and anyone she was with, Katana had no doubt about that. She'd be doing the same thing they were.

It seemed this plan of theirs was falling apart rather rapidly.

* * *

"You seem to have strong opinions, Judge Harkness. What are your opinions about the current district attorney?" the moderator asked.

"We have seen more energy in the D.A.'s office, more than I can remember, at least," Judge Harkness remarked. "Harvey Dent has held up to his promise to crack down on crime in Gotham."

"He is harassing reputable business men," Weinstein cut in.

"Some of those business men are anything but reputable," Harkness quipped back before Harvey could. Man, she was fast. "In the past two years, we have seen some of Gotham's elite's dirty laundry come out. These individuals should be held accountable for their actions and they should be given what is owed to them: their day in court."

"They are innocent until proven guilty," Weinstein insisted. "Like we all are. That is what our system is all about, and it's something that Harvey Dent has forgotten about. Everyone to him is a criminal."

"Not everyone is guilty to me, Weinstein," Harvey cut in. "I only use what evidence is presented to me. Only after I'm _convinced_ that there's a case do I issue warrants. I remember what our system is based on. With that said, how do you defend someone after they've had their head shot off with an umbrella?"

* * *

Bullets pelted the desk, causing quite a clatter. Crouched behind it was Batman and Manhunter, using it for cover.

Situations like this were nothing new for the Dark Knight. This wasn't the first nor would it be the last time he would be pinned down by gunfire. It was because of this he allowed his own mind to indulge his anxiety.

The wrong woman was at his side. For the first time since he had allowed it, he and Batgirl were separated. There was no telling what would happen without him watching over her. While he was sure she was aware of his constant vigil, he was also sure that was a big deterrent to her to kill an opponent. Though he had spent the better part of two years retraining her, teaching her to use her skills in a more productive, if not less lethal, manner, not once had he felt comfortable leaving her by herself.

Unfortunately, it seemed he didn't have a choice at the moment.

"Ya know, if we just keep waiting for these guys to run out of ammo, they are going to kill us!" Manhunter yelled to him over the constant gunfire. "We need to do something now!"

Batman merely glanced to the woman. He was starting to see why she was with the Birds now. It seemed Black Canary valued continuity with the team, so she found a comrade similar enough to Huntress—someone who was impatient, strong, and had no issue with head-on attacks.

He was under no illusion that she had a low opinion about him. It seemed most of the younger vigilantes did. Yet, all it took was just one instant to change that opinion and it seemed that opportunity was presenting itself for Manhunter.

Calmly, Batman reached to his belt and pulled out a small, round canister—a flashbang grenade. "Close your eyes and cover your ears," he ordered her before he hurled it over the desk and towards the gunmen.

"What are you…" was all Manhunter managed to speak before she immediately clamped her hands down on her ears, her head bowing down. A moment later and a deafening _BOOM!_ rang out, coupled with a blinding flash and several cries of pain.

Due to his mask, the Dark Knight was immune to all of this, dampening the blast and blocking the light. Immediately, Batman stood up, pressing a hand on top of the bullet-ridden desk and using it to propel himself over the piece of furniture. With both feet touching down on the ground, he stormed over to the closest thug, all of whom were busy clutching their ears or eyes.

Angling to a side, Batman suddenly lunged at the man, ramming his elbow into the side of his head and knocking him clear off his feet. He had used more strength than was really necessary, but he wanted to make sure the blow knocked the man out. Considering his foe crashed headfirst into a crate next to him and dropped like a sack of beans to the floor, he was successful in that endeavor.

This cleared the way between him and the second man. Pressing forward, Batman lashed out with his fist, slamming it into the man's face and forcing his head to a side. Using his momentum, Batman spun in a circle even as he dropped low to the floor. Extending a leg out, he kicked out the gunman's legs, causing him to fall to the ground.

Continuing to spin, this time the dark-clad vigilante rose back up, a shuriken in hand. The moment he caught sight of the third gunman, he let the projectile fly, sending it spinning through the air until it collided with the thug's temple, knocking him out as he crashed to the floor.

Stopping his spin, Batman found himself looking right at the last two gunmen, the second one lying on the floor between him and them. Taking a step forward, he pulled back his other leg and sent it forward, delivering a hard kick to the defenseless man's face and effectively sending him into unconsciousness if his limp body was any indication.

Closing the distance between him and the fourth gunman, Batman went in low and sent a punch directly into the man's gut, causing him to lose the air in his lungs and gasp, bending over from the blow. Shooting straight up, he grabbed the thug by his coat on his shoulders and held him there, lifting a leg up and bending it at the knee. A second later and his knee collided with the man's face, sending him stumbling back as the vigilante released his grip.

With the new distance between him and his foe, Batman leapt into the air and lashed out with his foot, his kick landing right on the man's chest and sent him flying back into the wall behind him. Like the others, he slid down to the floor, landing on his butt as he slumped over.

The moment he landed on the ground, Batman had his attention right on the last gunman. Unfortunately, this one seemed to have recovered a little faster than his friends as he was in the motion of aiming his machine gun at him.

Instantly the dark-clad vigilante was on him, grabbing the gun and forcing it to a side just as it began to fire. Wrenching the man's arm up and then down to the opposite side, bullets creating a trail of bullet holes in the walls and ceiling, he could see he had thrown the man's balance off as he uncomfortably leaned to a side.

Letting go of the gun with one hand, Batman grabbed the gunman by his threat, pushing him back and down so that his back arched even more uncomfortably. A pained moan came from the man, his eyes wide as he stared at the Dark Knight.

The moment the gun stopped firing was when Batman pulled the man's head up even as he threw his forward, head-butting the thug as a sickening _crack!_ echoed throughout the room. Just like the others, when Batman released his hold the man dropped to the floor and laid there unmoving.

Glancing around for any more threats and finding none, Batman then turned to face the table, finding Manhunter staring from the opposite side of it. Her mouth was wide open in astonishment. "Wow…" she said softly.

Turning his attention away from her, Batman looked to the crates around them, noticing a few bullet holes in them. Moving to one, he crouched down and peered through the hole, noticing the odd shape of objects within the box.

A scowl appeared on his face. More guns. Considering everything that had happened since they had entered this building, Batman was beginning to see that there was more to this place than what was expected. There was the diamonds, of course, but they had found more than they were expecting, on two floors no less. Now there were crates on another floor? This wasn't just some diamond smuggling ring hiding in some dilapidated apartment building.

The entire building was a front for Thorne's illegal operations.

Considering everything Thorne was involved in, known and alleged, the Dark Knight was willing to bet there was money laundering, drugs, and much more. That included a highly armed security force. Though imposing, this presented a whole new opportunity.

"It's time to regroup," Batman declared as he turned back to Manhunter. "The original plan is a bust, so now we have to make a new one."

That seemed to wake Manhunter out of her stupor. "What kind of plan is that?" she questioned.

"How we're going to take control of this building and take in every single person here."

* * *

"That was very blunt, Dent," Weinstein drawled.

"You know what else is blunt? That you're not qualified for this job," Harvey stated. "You say I'm being too tough. That I'm being too hard on rich guys. But the one thing that has gone over your head is that this city is changing. It's changing in ways no one can predict. We can't remain in the past, clinging to a city that no longer exists.

"This isn't Carmine Falcone's Gotham anymore. We've had some unusual and flat out weird incidents that no one would ever be prepared for. So whoever wins this election has to be ready for whatever the city will throw at them next. And who knows what that's going to be? I have proven over these past four years that I am more than capable of handling anything that comes my way. I am flexible enough that when the next weird and unusual event happens, I am working with the police and the mayor's office to figure out what to do about it. There have been a lot of precedents set during my time in office and I am under no illusion that there will be a lot more to come."

"I do agree with that, you have set a lot of precedents," Harkness responded. "With a new kind of criminal, there's a new kind of defense being brought up. Arkham Asylum is becoming the next Blackgate. Arkham is supposed to be for the mentally ill, not the criminals who prey on Gotham's citizens."

"What's worse is that Dent is letting that happen," Weinstein picked up, quick to go on the attack. "Before when lawbreakers were caught, they went to Blackgate. Mark my words, the flooding of Arkham is only beginning, and that place is not equipped for it. This all happened under Dent's watch."

Harvey had to hold in a snort as he remarked, "If that isn't as subtle as a punch to the face."

* * *

Black Canary's fist slammed into the man's face, cartilage snapping against her knuckles as the nose broke. The man flew off the ground until he crashed against the wall and dropped to the floor. Whipping her head around, blonde hair flying from the momentum. A thug was running at her, holding his machine gun high above his head, attempting to bash her head in with the butt of the rifle.

Conventional wisdom said to dodge, which considering this guy's action, it wouldn't be all that hard to do. However, that was just prolonging this brawl she was in and she wanted the exact opposite of that.

So instead she moved towards the charging thug, going in low to encourage the impending strike. The guy took the bait and swung his gun down. In response, Black Canary crossed her arms over her head and lunged forward, her forearms colliding with her opponent's, stopping his attack.

Though this was a good thing, unfortunately it left her with very little room to maneuver, much less attempt a counterattack. Well, except for one move. Seeing as how the blonde wanted to end the fight, she took used it.

Pulling her leg back, she sent it swinging forward, ramming it right into the gunman's groin.

The blow was instantly effective. A high-pitched squeak came from the man's mouth as his body sagged against her. Black Canary didn't bother supporting him as he dropped to the floor, holding his bruised manparts.

Again she went looking for another opponent, only this time she caught sight of Batgirl. There were three men converging on her, all at different angles. Alarms were going off in the blonde's head. No way could the girl handle that many people at once.

They never stood a chance.

The first thing Batgirl did was avoid the first fist thrown. A basic move really, except the man she blocked was attacking her from behind. She leaned to a side, just narrowly dodging the fist. Her own hands then shot up and grabbed onto the arm, pressing it down on her shoulder to cause a slight hyperextension.

That was when the second guy arrived, throwing his own punch at her. Leaping off the floor, she shot out one of her legs, her foot slamming into the attacking thug's chest, stopping him cold. However, there was an obvious lack of power behind the kick seeing as her attacker didn't go flipping away, instead just being halted in his tracks.

That was when Batgirl's other leg went into action. Much like with the second thug, her foot stopped the third man before he could even attempt to attack. Then, using the two men as a springboard, she then spun over the first thug's arm, twisting it as she went, throwing the man off balance even as he screamed in pain. Even from where she stood, Black Canary could hear the snapping of bone as the arm was broken.

Batgirl released her hold of the man, opting to land on her feet in a crouched stance. Her unfortunate foe, spun over and over until he landed hard on the floor. Not even pausing to catch her breath, Batgirl was jumping up into the air again, twisting her body as she lashed out with a much powerful kick, one that hit the third goon against the side of his neck. His head snapped to a side as he went flying through the air.

This left the second thug standing frozen where he stood. The moment one of Batgirl's feet touched the floor, she immediately closed the distance between them, going in low before launching herself upward. With one arm extended up, fingers curled back and palm jutting out, she rammed her palm up against the thug's chin, snapping his head back before he went sailing backwards.

And that was how Black Canary found herself gaping. That entire exchange could not have taken more than five seconds, six if she wanted to be generous. She had trained herself through self-defense classes, which were followed by Karate, Tai Kwon Do, and a host of other styles, and eventually to intermediate and master levels. Yet not once had she seen a single teacher or student do what this little girl had down in the time it took to take a single breath.

Suddenly she had an inkling as to why Batman had taken such an interest in her.

For the remaining men in the room, they too were stunned by Batgirl's acrobatics, so much so that it left them wide open for another barrage of attacks from her. Black Canary would've wholeheartedly joined her had she not caught the sound of approaching footsteps from outside the room's door.

 _Reinforcements._

Darting to one side of the doorway, she patiently waited for the sign of the approaching men, spotting it as the barrel of a gun peaked around the corner.

Instantly, the blonde lunged forward, shooting her hands out to grab onto the barrel. The force of her momentum pushed the weapon to a side, banging against the doorframe as a couple shots were fired.

Jerking her head to a side, Black Canary saw there were two men right outside the door, one behind the other. Unlike her previous opponent, there was plenty of space for the blonde martial artist to work, which she took full advantage of. Raising one leg up, she delivered a side kick right to the front gunman's stomach, the force of the blow pushing him backwards.

More importantly, he caused the man to lose his grip on his gun.

Seeing as she was the only thing keeping the gun pressed against the doorframe, Black Canary pulled away, causing the weapon to drop to the floor with a clatter. Pressing her advantage, she rammed into the two men, forcing them backwards until they collided with the wall on the other side of the hall.

Looking up, the blonde found herself in a very advantageous position. See, while both men were pretty much on top of each other, they were off-center, meaning that she could see the back man's head over the front man's shoulder.

Quickly, Black Canary reached up with both arms, placing her hands on one side of both men's heads. Then with as much strength as she could summon, she cracked their skulls against each other, effectively knocking them out.

Satisfied with her handiwork, the vigilante turned around and went back into the room. There, she found Batgirl standing amongst the broken and bruised bodies of the guards. The blonde blinked her eyes owlishly at the sight. In the amount of time it took for her to knock out two goons, this little girl finished off the leftovers.

For some reason she was beginning to feel a little self-conscious.

"Uhh, good job," she lamely complemented, receiving no response in turn. She wasn't sure what she was expecting, but the lack of a reply was vintage Batman. Sighing, she then mentally shook herself. She needed to get her head back in the game. "Okay, we need to find Batman and Manhunter. I'm sure they're—"

That was when one of the supposedly unconscious men shot up from where he laid in front of the younger vigilante. He was kneeling on his feet, the side of his face swollen and bruised. In one hand he clutched a pistol.

One he pointed point blank at Batgirl

 _BANG! BANG! BANG!_


	20. Assault on Thorne

Assault on Thorne

The last time Huntress had been in a closet with a person of the male persuasion, she had been in high school and giving him seven minutes of real Heaven.

Right now, that was not happening.

Nostrils filled with the scent of cleaning products and dirty water, a wretched smell if there ever was one. Leaning up against the wall next to the door, the purple-clad woman glanced to Nightwing, who had taken up residence in a corner of the janitor's closet, right next to a shelf and a half-filled bucket of dirty water.

He seemed comfortable standing there with his arms crossed over his chest. Huntress preferred sitting on the floor and giving her feet a rest when she got the opportunity. However, her mind was most certainly not at rest, its gears constantly turning. She clearly remembered the tension between Nightwing and Robin, something that was definitely new.

Considering they had some time, perhaps it was best to find out what was going on.

"You going to mope the entire time, or are you going to talk," she whispered to him, catching the young man off guard.

"What are you talking about, moping?" he returned just as lowly. "I'm not moping."

"Then what do you call that tension between you and your sidekick?" the purple-clad woman returned.

Nightwing fell silent for a moment. Then, "That's not any of your business."

Huntress leaned her head up against the wall, looking up to the ceiling. "It's not like we're doing anything right now. We've got ourselves a nice little hidey-hole and time to kill. And one thing I noticed the moment I saw you was how you two were definitely not on the best of terms. Now fess up before I make you."

That caused the vigilante to snort. "I'd like to see you try."

Raising an eyebrow, the dark-haired woman tilted her head down to give the young man a look. "You do realize I have my crossbow on me and that I'm an excellent shot. Quit being a macho man and talk."

"Or what? You'll shoot me?"

"Yeah, and then I'll tell you all about my menstrual cramps."

There was dead silence before Nightwing caved in. "Okay, you win." He sighed. "What do you want to know?"

"Why you two have your panties in a knot, for starters."

Nightwing closed his eyes as he let out a sigh. "Robin's been having some trouble lately. He recently lost a relative that was murdered and he's been pretty obsessed about it. We had just found out about this diamond smuggling when this all came out, so with him dealing with his relative, I was left carrying the load."

Huntress continued to keep her eyebrow raised. "And?"

"And you know what happened next. He went running to you and the Bat to make it better."

"So, the fact he asked for help is bothering you?"

"The fact he left me high and dry is what's bothering me," he corrected.

Again they were silent, right up until Huntress snorted. "Have you ever lost someone close to you?"

Nightwing's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, I have. And they were a hell of a lot closer to me than Robin's distant aunt."

"Then how do you not get him? I mean, I'm getting the feeling this kid hasn't had to deal with too much death, not like you or me. So when someone he actually knows, someone who's killed actually hits him hard, you expect him to carry on as if it's okay?" Huntress shook her head in disgust. "I'm starting to think the problem isn't with him as much as it's with you."

That caused the dark-haired man to bristle. "This isn't some issue about attitude. You know what we do is dangerous and that we count on each other to watch out backs. Robin's been so focused on this, he hasn't been watching out for mine. I can't have that."

That much was true. Any other day Huntress would've acknowledged that point, but she had the sense that 'Wing here was leaving something very important out. Call it a sixth sense, or just honed intuition from having to interpret bullshit from nine year olds—they could be very misleading when they wanted to be—but she knew this guy was omitting things. Since he was a man too, it was probably not even conscious either.

"Alright, so when did you have his back?" she countered. "When this family member of his died and he was distraught, where were you to comfort him? You know what it's like to lose someone; why weren't you there to help him make sense of it, to get through it?"

That caught Nightwing off guard, his face doing its best impression of a goldfish. Again, a wave of disapproval filled the dark-haired woman. Men, capable of facing danger and committing acts of stupidity, incapable of reading emotions. "You're right, this is a dangerous profession, but there's more to a person than what they're capable of. They have feelings and emotions that affect them every day. Considering you hadn't even tried to talk to this kid about how he was feeling, I'm willing to bet you never told him about your own loss. Don't you think that would've been a good thing to tell him at the beginning so that he could confide with you?"

Huntress shook her head then. "No wonder he came running to us when he did."

Neither of them said anything for a while, Nightwing clearly lost in his own thoughts while Huntress was more than willing to not speak again. She had always known this Batclan group was out of its depth and should've never been formed. It was times like this she wondered why she hadn't ever taken steps to stop them.

"You're right," Nightwing suddenly spoke up, much to her surprise. "I wasn't there for him when he needed me. How did I not see this?"

"There's a simple answer for that," she remarked. "You're a guy. When it comes to feelings, you're as blind as a mole."

"Thanks for putting that so delicately," he replied with sarcasm dripping from his voice.

Any retort Huntress wanted to make, however, was cut short as the comm link in her ear went off. _About damn time,_ she groused.

" _Attention all points," Batman's deep voice spoke. "Abort current assignments. Prepare for new objectives."_

* * *

"If there is one failure on Dent's part, it is the fact that Gotham is still plagued by a host of vigilantes. These criminals mock our laws and justice system, practically giving it the middle finger while sending helpless people to the hospital!" Weinstein began. "The current D.A. has done nothing to help in the hopefully ongoing investigations of these lawless animals who have not only broken the law, but also harass various upstanding individuals in our community."

Figures Mort would pull out the vigilante card. Even in this day and age, the presence of Gotham's growing number of vigilantes was still a controversial subject. There were the supporters who wanted them out there because "they did a better job of protecting the city." There were the opponents who, like Weinstein, who labeled them as criminals and called for their arrest. There was probably a middle group somewhere who didn't care one way or the other, but Harvey had yet to meet such a person from that group.

"I think you don't know enough about what it means to be the District Attorney, Mort. Why don't you look that up before applying for the job?" Harvey suggested.

"I think I know plenty, Harvey. Enough to know that you aren't doing your job," Weinstein retorted, looking offended.

"I have been doing my job, and that's prosecuting the individuals that Gotham's Finest bring to me. I don't have the authority to go out and arrest whomever I want," Harvey argued back. "I'm presented with cases, ones where the police have painstakingly pieced together with evidence. It is my decision whether or not that case goes to court, and if I decided not to go ahead, I send it back for further investigation. There's only one shot I have at prosecution; I don't get a second try."

"As per the laws of our country," Harkness agreed.

"That means I can't go out and tell the police how to do their jobs, only to do it better. And if one day they bring to me a vigilante and hard evidence of their identity and crimes, I will prosecute them to the fullest extent of the law," Harvey declared. "I'll give them a heart attack with all the charges I'd bring on them."

* * *

Black Canary's heart stopped. There was literally no beating for what felt like an eternity. She stared, the only thing she was able to do. Her stomach was in a sickening knot, threatening to expel her dinner, her mind in a constant loop of horror.

And then her heart restarted.

Batgirl stood tall and proud, staring down at the goon with the gun. Behind her the wall was littered with bullet holes, smoking wafting out of a few of them.

More importantly, there wasn't any blood on the wall.

From where she stood, Black Canary could not see a single spot where the young girl had been hit. No bullet wounds, no blood, not whimpers of pain. In fact, the thug was staring at her with wide eyes, even as he continued to squeeze the trigger over and over, the steady sound of clicks filling the room.

Then, faster than the eye could see, Batgirl pivoted on one foot, her other lashing out as it slammed right into the man's face, lifting him off the floor and sending him flying through the air. He crashed to the floor moments later, unmoving as he fell into unconsciousness.

The blonde woman only paid the gunman enough attention to make sure he was certainly not a threat, opting to focus right on Batman's protégé. Trembling, she approached the girl, her eyes darting all over her smaller body to confirm without a shadow of a doubt that she was not injured.

In turn, Batgirl just watched her approach, not looking the least bit unnerved. The moment Black Canary reached her, her arms went out and began touching the girl, searching for anything her eyes had to have missed. Yet, there wasn't even a tender spot, much less a bullet wound.

Finally, Canary looked up to the wall, staring at the bullet holes. Those shots had been made point blank. Either the gunman was a lousy shot—and a historically bad one at that—or some sort of divine intervention had happened. She wasn't a religious woman by any means, but she really had no other explanation for it.

"You didn't get hit, did you?" she questioned the younger woman, eyeing her critically.

In response, Batgirl shook her head in the negative.

"Then how? How did you not get hit?" she demanded, desperately. She had to know. _Had to._

For a moment, the girl didn't respond, merely looking back at her. For some reason, Black Canary felt this was more than just the girl ignoring her; it was more like she was trying to find the right words. Call her crazy, but that was the impression she got despite the full-face mask.

Then, "Move."

"Move?" Black Canary repeated. _Move?_ What did that even mean? Did she mean that she moved out of the way of the bullets? The blonde thought back to the actual shooting, trying to see if she even saw the girl move and she admittedly couldn't.

And with that being the case, how the hell could she dodge point-blank gunfire?

Black Canary shook her head. That was a mystery for another time; time where she could talk to an expert like Katana to see if there was any sense to be made of this. Right now, they had other problems.

"I don't know about you, but we need to go find Batman and Manhunter," she told her comrade. "I'm betting they're somewhere on this floor. We'll need to be careful, though; there's no telling how many more bad guys are here."

Then, as if her words were a summoning, Batman's voice went off in her ear. _"Attention all points."_

* * *

"Abort current assignments. Prepare for new objectives," Batman spoke.

"The entire building is a Thorne front. Every floor is a phase of his operation. Our new objective is to shut down each and every floor. Whatever floor you're currently on, neutralize all combatants. When you've achieved your objective, move to another floor and repeat. If you are separated from your team, find them first before engaging. Do not take on anyone without backup."

Ending his transmission, Batman waited for confirmation from the others. It took a moment but Huntress, Black Canary, and Robin answered his call, speaking for Nightwing, Batgirl, and Katana respectively.

That was a load off his mind. Robin, the least experienced member of their group, was at least with someone that could watch his back properly. Batgirl's teaming with Black Canary was also good and he knew he could rely on the blonde to keep her in line if needed. The fact everyone was at least in a pair was a stroke of luck, but one he wasn't going to refuse.

"You must've been a drill sergeant at some point," Manhunter remarked then, drawing him out of his thoughts. "I don't think I've heard a more militaristic speech than that. Even army guys don't sound like that."

Batman ignored the jab. "What weapons do you have on you?" he questioned. If he was going to fight with this woman at his side, he wanted to make sure he knew what she was capable of.

"Aside from my lock blasters?" she quipped. "There's my bo staff, designed and engineered by the DEO, so it has plenty of surprises. The same with my gauntlets."

Batman's head perked up. It seemed this Manhunter had some serious contacts if her claims were true. It wasn't common knowledge, but the DEO—Department of Extranormal Operations—had been formed following the formation of the Justice League. The vigilante knew this because he had been approached by their agents after Zatanna's departure from Gotham, questioning him what he knew about her. It seemed there were quite a few people in D.C. that didn't like the idea of superpowered persons joining together and were taking steps to make sure they wouldn't be a threat—to them. Ever since he had made it a priority to learn everything he could about them.

Apparently he had missed their capability for developing weapons.

This would be as good of a time as any to figure out what they could and could not create, assuming the guards here were capable enough to force Manhunter into using the full capabilities of her weaponry, something he seriously doubted considering her reputation as a brawler.

His silence must've disappointed the brunette, considering he didn't ask about the mysterious DEO. "Tell me your suit has some interesting things too," she countered. "More than some batarangs and a grapple gun."

"Explosives, flashbang grenades, smoke pellets, and a few other things that could come in handy." If she wanted to be vague about her abilities, so he could he.

A frown appeared on her face. "That's it? You've just been running around with basic SWAT team equipment?"

"Does it look like I need more?"

That caused Manhunter to pause. "No, I don't suppose you do."

Batman didn't continue their conversation, opting to remain silent. Then, "It's time for us to move. Be ready."

"About time."

* * *

A thumb and forefinger worked together, turning the knob held between them. In response, the focus of the microscope increased, then decreased as the human eye peering into the scientific device sought to find the right magnification.

The man whose neck was beginning to cramp slightly from its bent position ignored his bodily protests as he continued his observations. Absently, he wrote down anything of note onto a clipboard with his other hand. He would look over it later.

It wasn't uncommon for this man to be working late into the night. It was no contest that he was the more dedicated staff member of Queen Industries' R&D department, located in downtown Gotham. There wasn't much to notice about him, other than a prominent nose and a bowl cut he styled his dark hair into. Most people stayed away from him, possibly because he was either asocial or they felt uncomfortable around him.

He didn't really care about that. So what if they didn't like him? Let them be lazy and do the minimum standard, he was in this for the big one. Achilles was sure that it was only a matter of time until he managed to concoct some chemical miracle in liquid form. He just needed to find it, whatever it ended up being.

Yes, his name was Achilles. Professor Achilles Milo to be more exact. An odd choice of name for a man who was as thin as a reed with a slumped posture; nothing like the glorious Greek warrior who once bore the name. Chemistry was what he was good at. Great even.

However, he had had some rough patches recently. The past few years had not been kind to him and it had been luck alone that landed him this position at Queen Industries. Not that he didn't chafe at the idea of having to answer to others, but what could he do?

Right now, all his energies were being put into researching the next big steroidal compound. Something for medical purposes. Milo cared not a bit for it. Yes, he'd give this place its new steroid, but if he did this right, he could come up with something a bit more potent, something that athletes the world around would kill for. Then he'd be buried with cash and no way to spend it all.

"Hard at work, Achilles?"

The deep baritone of a voice jolted Milo out of work, jostling the microscope he was using. He dropped everything to try and steady it; hopefully nothing had been ruined, or worse, destroyed. Once he was sure that the microscope was safe, he released it carefully so that he could turn on whoever dared to interrupt him.

"What do you think you're…" he paused suddenly at the taller man that had somehow snuck up on him. Milo felt surprised at the intruder, not because he had somehow managed to make it this far into a _secure_ area of R &D, but due to the fact that he recognized him despite the bad hair piece he was wearing. "Oh. It's you."

"It's been some time, hasn't it, Achilles?" the taller man chuckled.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to use my first name?" Milo retorted as he turned around in his seat and back to the work bench he was set up at. Wanting to get through this as quickly as possible, Milo cut the inevitable chit chat short, "What do you want?"

"Now is that any way to behave to a colleague? I'm hurt, Achilles."

"I'm not in the mood or frame of mind to banter with you tonight, Professor—"

"It's doctor, for the time being," the other man interrupted him. "And let's leave it at that. Who knows what ears may be listening?"

Milo would have raised an eyebrow at that but didn't. Too much of a hassle. "My question remains."

"Very well. I've recently come into something, something I think might catch your interest."

"And what might that be?" he snarked.

"Perhaps it is something to alleviate the boredom, or tedium, you may be experiencing. Tell me, what do you make of this?"

A folded piece of paper was slid in front of him, and the chemist did raise an eyebrow at it this time. Shrugged, he unfolded it and took a look at the molecular structure written on him. His brow creased as he immediately recognized that this wasn't some ordinary chemical compound he was looking at. This was something advance, cutting edge if he didn't say so himself. Nothing at all what was being done in this particular lab, or department, for that matter.

"Say I'm interested, what is it?" he asked, hinting that any interest he had was purely hypothetical.

"That, my friend, is a mutagen."

"You don't say." Milo grunted.

"Allow me to finish. This mutagen is capable of transforming a human, such as you and I, into something more. Something powerful, bestial, and awesome to behold. Perhaps you are aware of the rumors in this city of a creature flying through the night? A creature that is half man, half bat?"

"Are you talking about Batman?"

"Not the vigilante. No, he is but a mere man. This is something greater than even he."

"Can't say I've heard those rumors," Milo replied, shrugging his shoulders. "Why are you discussing this with me, Prof…doctor?

"Because chemistry is not a field I particularly excel at. You, on the other hand, are one of the great minds, if not the greatest mind in the field."

"Enough with the flattery. Where are you going with this?"

"I wish to commission you, Achilles. I would like for you to recreate this mutagen. A whole batch of it."

The wheels in the chemist's mind were turning. "You want a lot of this stuff, don't you? For what reason?"

"My reasons are my own, I'm afraid. To divulge them now…the less you know, the better."

"Oh really?" Milo narrowed his eyes, looking over his shoulder at his colleague. "You want me to make you more of this mutagen, and you won't even tell me what you want to do with it? So much secrecy, _doctor_. I don't know if this worth my time…"

"Do not worry, you will be compensated for your work, Achilles, have no doubt of that. You can not tell me you aren't intrigued about this mutagen. Especially since I am willing to let you have some leeway with it."

"Leeway?" he repeated, blinking his eyes.

"Like a virus has multiple strains, I was hoping you would do the same for this mutagen. It would be awfully boring if there was only one kind of bat creature flying around, wouldn't it? I included some suggestions with the compound, but feel free to take liberties."

Indeed there were. It would take some creativity, but Milo supposed it could be done.

"This can't come back to me in any way," he warned.

"I've already taken precautions. I have also left a means of communication as well so that I may retrieve the finished products. As soon as you can, Achilles."

"Fine. But you had better make this worth my while."

"Believe me, it will be beyond your wildest imaginations."

* * *

Huntress and Nightwing stood in front of the door.

"You're sure about this?" the young man questioned, sending the purple-clad woman a disapproving look.

"You heard the man," Huntress rebuffed. "We need to search this entire floor and subdue every single bad guy we can find."

"Never thought you were one to follow orders," he retorted.

"I do when I like them. Now stand back and get ready for the fireworks."

Lifting up a leg, Huntress kicked the door in, sending it swinging on its hinges until it banged against the wall. Blasting in, the first thing the vigilante saw were a bunch of people sitting at tables, their heads snapping up from their diamond counting. In between the tables were men with guns, obviously making sure none of the workers pocketed any of the shiny stones. With dismal conditions like these, you'd have to force people to do your menial labor.

Running, Huntress leaped into the air, one foot touching down on a table, which she used as a springboard to launch herself even higher. Gravity kicked in as she soared towards the nearest gunman, who was scrambling to get his gun up.

Legs extended out and pressed together, Huntress' feet slammed into the man's face and knocked him off his feet, landing hard on the back of his head on the floor. In a flash, she had an H-shaped shuriken in each hand, sending them flying the moment she landed. She watched with satisfaction as each projectile collided with the head of two more gunmen, knocking them out cold.

That's when Nightwing blew past her. The young man didn't even touch the floor as he sprung from table to table, flipping over one thug the moment he was close enough. The moment he was hovering over the man's head upside down, Nightwing swung an escrima stick, slamming it against the back of the man's head and dropping him to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

Completing his flip, Nightwing landed on a table right next to another goon, this time leaning to a side as he lashed out with one leg, landing a kick to the man's face. The force of the blow snapped the guy's head to the side and even sent him spinning around in midair before he landed hard on the ground.

That's when everything went still. Looking around, Huntress couldn't see anymore threats in the room, all of the workers having dropped below the tables for cover. "I think we got them all," she announced to her partner, who was now walking towards her over the tables.

That was when she heard the very familiar sound of a gun being cocked. Slowly, the dark-haired woman glanced over her shoulder and found one of the workers emerging from the other side of the table, a handgun pointed right at her. Alarm bells were going off in her head. Something wasn't right about this.

"Hey, you don't need that gun," she said slowly, softly even; it was a voice she normally used on her third graders when they were upset.

Unfortunately, this guy wasn't a blubbering nine year old. "Eat lead, bitch."

Immediately, Huntress ducked down below the table, just as the first shot was fired. Crouching right next to the table, she brought her hands up to the edge and grabbed on, pushing upwards and away. In response the table was lifted off the floor, its top leaning down as the purple-clad woman pushed it against the worker. Diamonds rained down on the wooden floor as they slid off, Huntress rising up to stand, knocking the man down to the ground with the table landing on top of him.

"Eat table, ass," she groused.

"Shit!" Nightwing swore. Snapping her head around, Huntress saw the young man bouncing from tabletop to tabletop, kicking and smacking his escrima sticks on other workers that were pulling out weapons. In fact, it seemed liked everyone in the room was popping out of the woodworks, armed to the teeth.

That's when it hit her. These weren't people forced into Throne's labor force; these were people that were just as invested and they were not going to let their money supply run out on them.

Reaching to her back, Huntress grabbed the handle of her bo staff and pulled it out, hitting the switch that caused its ends to extend out. Alright, so if everyone in this room was a bad guy, it was strongly possible that everyone in the building was. That was fine, she just had to beat down every single last person in this hellhole.

Talk about simplifying things.

* * *

"It's easy for you to say that now," Weinstein mocked, staring the current district attorney down from his podium. "But why haven't you made your stance known already? Why wait until tonight? Why not go to Commissioner Gordon and put some pressure on him? I know why you don't do any of that. It's because you support this lawlessness and your inaction is proof of it."

"What I have and have not done about the vigilante issue is of little importance," Harvey shot back, his frustration starting to mount.

"I believe it is," Harkness spoke up, butting in. "Weinstein does have a point. You have been quiet about telling the public about your stance on this issue until tonight."

And now Harkness was getting on his case. Great. Harvey had the urge to dig into his pocket for any change he might find in it. His fingers needed to keep busy.

"You've been quiet too, Judge," he fired back. "What's your stance?"

"Your Honor?" the debate's moderator prompted, attempting to take control of the debate from the candidates. Their back and forth had had left little room for any interruptions.

"The vigilantes of this city are a problem. It poses a problem not only for the fact that they are indeed breaking the law, but also the certainty of inspiring others to try this dangerous act for themselves," Harkness answered. "The fact that the number of vigilantes is increasing with almost every year should be more than alarming. This fact has gone quietly under the radar, and the longer we allow it to, the more dangerous it will become."

* * *

It didn't matter how many times he was around her, Robin was always struck with awe at how skilled Katana was.

The woman in question was standing in the middle of a room, one that was pretty much empty save for a round table that was currently lying on its side, a square one against the wall where a coffeepot sat, a few chairs, and a mess of cards and poker chips. Incidentally, the men that had inhabited this room were all lying on the floor in various stages of unconsciousness.

It had been spectacular. Now, Robin had made sure to contribute, taking out a guy that had broken off the leg of one of the chairs and tried to use it as a club. The young man had successfully dodged every swing he had made, landed a few good punches to the face and abdomen, and finally scored the knockout blow.

By then, Katana had disarmed all the other men, having used her sword to slice off the barrels of the guns. Then with a sheathed sword, the Asian woman knocked the rest of the men out. It was five to his one and she didn't even look the least bit winded.

Damn he really needed to brush up on his martial arts.

However, just because she had only used her sword on the weapons didn't mean Katana hadn't drawn blood. In fact, there were a couple of men lying on the floor with small puddles of blood beginning to emerge.

He couldn't help himself, he stared at the blood. His mind did all the rest as images of his aunt lying on grime-covered pavement, her blood pouring out of her as she bled out.

So lost in that thought was he that Robin didn't realize Katana had walked up to him until she laid a hand on his shoulder, giving him a shake to draw his attention to her. "You okay?" she inquired.

Robin shook his head. This wasn't the place to get caught up in his imagination. No wonder Nightwing didn't want him as a partner. "Yeah, yeah I am," he sputtered out, yet his eyes kept glancing to the blood. "I just…"

Katana turned her head and saw where Robin was staring. "Something wrong?" she asked as she looked to him.

"Yes, no...umm, it's just, I don't think this is the place to be discussing it," he tried to answer.

"Safe of place as any," the dark-haired woman retorted, her hand squeezing his shoulder comfortably. "What is bothering you?"

The earnestness this woman was showing him got to Tim. There was just something inviting about her, that made him want to trust her. "I've been going through a rough patch," he admitted. "My aunt was murdered not too long ago and I can't get her out of my head. When I saw that blood over there, I just couldn't help but think of how she must have…" he trailed off as a lump grew in his throat, causing him to swallow it, "…died."

Katana nodded solemnly. "Death is hard thing, very difficult to comprehend, hard to accept."

Something about that seemed very fortune cookie-ish, causing Tim to mentally step back. What the hell was he doing, confiding with someone that was barely an acquaintance in a rundown ghetto like this? "Yeah, that sums it up good," he tried to retreat. "Everyone has to deal with it, right? I just have to deal."

That's when Katana's eyes hardened. "No deal," she said, her voice stern. It was like she was reprimanding him. "It not something you 'deal' with. Some ignore, some forget…and some never let go."

Again, Tim swallowed. "Never let go?"

She nodded. "When someone close to you is gone, it leaves hole. Sometimes it can be filled, but it never go away. We cope best we can and that has to be enough."

"Have…have you lost someone?"

The sternness melted away as Katana's face took on a more wistful one. "I have." She dropped her hand to her sword, holding its hilt fondly. "I carry it every day."

"You mean you still feel its loss?"

The Asian woman shook her head. "No, carry." She then lifted up her sword. "This is mystical sword, forged to battle dark magics. It has power to absorb the souls of those it slain."

 _O…kay. This just got weird._ "How many souls are in there?" Robin asked, though he honestly didn't want to. It was more like he was trying to be nice than anything.

"Many. Hundreds even." Her voice softened. "Including my husband."

That hit Tim like a pile of bricks. Husband…she had lost her husband. Here he was obsessing over an aunt he didn't know all that well and she lost the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. And if what she said was true, she was using the very sword that killed him! What the hell was he moping around for?!

"I'm sorry," he quickly spoke. "It must be hard for you."

"Some days," she admitted. "But I never want to forget. I love my husband very much and I never want to part with that. Though he may be trapped, this is closest we can be now. One day I may free him and I intend to. Until then, we here."

That made Tim think. Though Katana had been through some rough things, she was fully intent on changing them. Her pain was great, but she never let it slow her down. What strength she must have. But…if she could do it, then he could to. He didn't have to forget his aunt, but he couldn't let what happened to her control him either.

It was time to move on.

That was when the comm link in his ear went off, the same for Katana. _"This is Huntress,"_ the purple-clad woman called in. _"Don't drop your guard around the workers. Everyone here is working with Thorne; I repeat, everyone in the building is working with Throne. Don't trust anyone."_

* * *

Things were starting to not go Harvey's way. Both Weinstein and Harkness were hammering him on the vigilante issue. They were working off each other, whether they knew it or not, and it was really starting to get on his nerves that they wouldn't let him get a word in edgewise.

"If Gotham is to become truly safe, we cannot have its citizens taking the law into their own hands, no matter how tempting it is," Weinstein continued to argue. "It undermines our society, and an example needs to be made. The law must be upheld by those we've given the authority to, the brave men and women of the GCPD for starters."

"A person is guaranteed to their day in court, preferably without black eyes or broken bones," Harkness chimed in. "Such brutality is unacceptable in any civilized society."

Harvey clenched his teeth tightly as he felt a headache growing behind his eyes. Who did these people think they were? Those points were laughable, especially given Gotham's history.

As he began to open his mouth to retort, he was cut off once again. "The fact that you continue to allow this behavior to continue, Dent, is an embarrassment to everyone associated with the law. Do you know how many people I've had to defend who have been deformed by excessive violence from those costumed animals?" Weinstein asked rhetorically. "By ignoring the actions of those vigilantes, you ignore the rights of Gotham's citizens, whom are innocent until _proven_ guilty."

"We might as well return to the days of witch hunts if the rule of law is not respected by those charged with administering it," Harkness stated as Harvey was taking in breath to begin speaking, interrupting him. "The continued presence of vigilantism mocks any high ground we may claim." The headache was starting to pound now.

"For once I agree with you, Judge," Weinstein slipped in as Harvey was leaning forward to speak. "It does mock the district attorney's office. What's even more embarrassing is that our current DA relies more on the vigilante arrests than those by law enforcement." Was it him, or was the lighting in this room really bright?

"It is law enforcement's responsibility to perform arrests, do the investigations, and keep us safe, not a group of masked criminals," Harkness pressed just as Harvey was about to refute Weinstein's claim. Harvey could feel his blood pressure in his temples now, his headache worsening by the second.

"Perhaps out DA is the joke," Weinstein jested. "The worst one Gotham has had in its history. It's a joke that needs to be taken out with all the other trash, followed by—"

" **Who the hell do you think you are you** _ **pathetic, balding maggot**_ **?!** " a deep, gravelly voiced roared out of Harvey and into his microphone, silencing the entire studio.

* * *

The punch came high. Arms shooting up, Black Canary stopped the ill-thrown blow between her forearms, one on each side of her foe's outstretched arm, her own crossing in front of her. Twisting to a side, she pushed the arm up; meanwhile she kicked at the man's leg, knocking him off balance. In a flurry of motion, her arms pushed her opponent's arm down while simultaneously grabbing the back of his head with her hand. Hair seeped between her fingers as she forced the man's head down, just as her knee shot up, the two colliding with each other.

Tossing him aside, the blonde woman stalked around the room, keeping to the wall. There was something familiar about this, though she didn't want to focus on the implication. She may have been here to fight, but she had another reason.

Batgirl was truly in her element. With three men around her, she picked them apart. A kick to the back of a knee, dropped one to his knee, disabling him momentary. Dodging a flying fist by moving inside, she sent her own punch, uppercutting the man and sending him flying backwards. Spinning around, she extended her other arm out, backhanding the kneeling man, just as the third man tried to kick her, his foot sailing where she had been standing. Leaping up, she delivered a roundhouse kick to the last man, dropping him just like the other two.

The entire time Black Canary watched and analyzed. There was something about this girl. The way she moved, the way she dodged and counterattacked, it was all like some sort of dance and one she had practiced extensively. She didn't have to look, she just knew what was coming. Like she was seeing into the future.

At least, that was the blonde woman's first impression. This wasn't the first room they had been in nor was it the first she had been watching this incredible fighter. It was because of this that she was beginning to get an idea of what was _really_ going on.

She only needed a look—one look to figure out everything she needed to know. Batgirl could read body language so accurately, she could actually predict what her opponent was going to do next. It was no wonder she could dodge bullets; all she had to do was read the gunman's body and she could predict where the shot would be fired, then dodge. In fact, Canary was willing to bet she dodged those bullets so narrowly, only a piece of paper could've fit between her and the bullet.

Faintly she wondered if Batman knew about this.

"Ahhhhh!" a man screamed as he rushed at the blonde woman, a fist raised. Waiting, Black Canary watched the man closed the distance between them before she reacted. Sidestepping, she shot her arms out to grab the thug, and swung with all her might. The man ran right into the wall, stood there for a moment, then dropped to the floor.

And that was another guy down. Tearing her eyes away, she saw Batgirl standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by her fallen opponents, looking right at her, waiting for instructions.

Faintly, Black Canary had the thought that if there was ever the perfect soldier, this was it. What kind of training did she go through?

There was a low moan, causing both women to look away. One of the men was groaning, shifting on the floor. Immediately, Black Canary walked over to him and kneeled. This guy was definitely still awake.

"Hey," she said, one hand grabbing him by his collar, the other hand hovering by his face. "Hey," she called again, only to receive another groan. This time her hand moved, slapping him sharply, which definitely startled the man.

"Ahh! Hey!" he exclaimed, his body squirming until he noticed who was looking down at him. "What the hell?"

"So, pal," Black Canary started, "my friend and I have a couple questions for you and I think it'd be in your best interest to be truthful with us."

"Or else what?" he snapped.

"Or else I let Batgirl over there use you for a punching bag. You know how hard she can hit and I'm willing to bet she knows just how hard she can hit you without knocking you out—over and over and over. So, what will it be?"

The thug remained silent.

"Mind telling us where your boss is?"

* * *

Harvey blinked, wondering why everything was quiet. And why was everybody staring at him? He didn't know what was happening, but what he did know was that his headache was gone. Oh, and his opponents were silent as well. Might as well take advantage of this.

Clearing his throat, he started, "You call me a joke, Weinstein? Last I checked, the only joke around is you. We both went to the same law school, you and I, and who was it that got caught trying to plagiarize one of his papers? That was you, wasn't it? So how did you get a degree, by the way? Plagiarism is against the law and no school ever lets a person caught cheating that way back in."

"This isn't about me, Dent," Weinstein tried to shoot back, a bit flustered. "It's hardly relevant—"

"I think it is relevant, because someone who tries to falsify a law paper is more than capable of falsifying a criminal charge. Or a warrant." Now he was pressing his charge. Time to draw blood. "What else have you tried to fake, Mort? I think the people of Gotham deserve to know that answer. After all, why put a known liar in an important office like the district attorney?"

"This isn't about me, it's about your shoddy performance," Weinstein spat.

"And how about your performance, hm? Every time you're in a courtroom, you make it a circus, making a, taking your word here, joke of the law. If you can't take the law seriously, how can people expect you to enforce it?"

* * *

With the boss out, Frankie found himself over at the projects. He was doing what needed to be done, you know. Keeping an eye on what was up, making sure nobody filched anything that didn't belong to them, have a few cans of beer, the usual.

The place was secure, especially since everybody here was loyal, meaning no squealers. No cops were on to this place, so it was pretty much their run of the place. All he needed to do was check in on the guys in the upper storeys then get back to what was really important.

Watching the game.

The Knights were on tonight, and Frankie was feeling lucky. Lucky enough that he had gotten in on the pot that the other boys did. Sitting back on the piece of shit couch they had, his feet propped up on the coffee table they had to put a phone book under to steady, he sipped from his can and smirked at a particularly harsh tackle. Nice.

"Yo, Laurence!" he called out.

"What?" Laurence grunted.

"Your boys aren't doing so well. The Knights are cleaning house tonight," Frankie bragged.

"Fuck you," Laurence grumbled.

"Hey, you picked the wrong team to bet on," Frankie continued, rubbing some salt into the wound.

"Not like I have a choice. You always pick the Knights," Laurence shot back.

"Knights are my team, ever since I was a kid. I ain't never bet against them. Never." Laurence should fucking know that by now. They'd been working with one another, cutting it under Thorne for years. They were both in Thorne's inner circle, and they had both fucking earned it.

"Whatever. I'm gonna roll call," Laurence said, standing up and snatching up a walkie talkie. The dark-skinned, buzzcut man walked towards a window, because reception in this place was shit.

Sore loser, Frankie told himself as he took another sip.

A few minutes pass, Frankie's attention now solely on the TV. Just as the game was cutting to commercials, Laurence suddenly swore. "Frankie, we've got a problem."

"What's that? We need a new hotspot?" Frankie called back.

"I only got half the floors to answer. Only the first, third, seventh, ninth, and tenth floors did. Something's up, I can feel it."

"Or maybe their batteries ran out," the blond man retorted. "Should have told us earlier."

"Frankie, you know we do checks every night," Laurence said. "I think we need to go on up and see what's going on. Something just ain't right here."

"You're just scared your team's 'bout to lose." Trust Laurence to get worried about nothing. The guy got scared easily, but for some reason Mr. Thorne listened to him.

"It's not gonna hurt if we send a couple guys out to look around is all I'm saying," Laurence continued to press, not shutting up like Frankie wanted him to.

"Fine, alright, whatever." Sometimes agreeing got the bitch to shut up sooner.

Nothing was going to stop Frankie from watching the game to the end.

* * *

"Weinstein's conduct in the courtroom is not what is at issue here," Harkness cut in.

"Maybe you're right, Judge. Let's talk about you, and how you enforce the law," Harvey turned his attention onto his other opponent.

"I beg your pardon?" The judge looked insulted. Let's see how long that lasted.

"Remember Liam Reinhardt? You should, you're the one who sentenced him to two and a half years in prison for child molestation, a crime that he perpetrator on a little girl for eight years. And he's out and back on the streets again." He was definitely on a roll now. "Just a few days ago, he got picked up, by a cop, for the same crime. Last I checked, he's heading back to _your_ courtroom. What are you going to do this time, give him three years instead of two and a half and hope he reforms this time? If I'm a joke, you're the one that makes the justice system itself hang its head in shame. Were you protecting that nine year old girl that was sexually assaulted when you gave her rapist a two and a half year sentence? I think not."

Now, turning to the audience watching him, Harvey spoke directly to them. "Maybe no one here likes how I run this office. But what are your other choices? A liar and a cheater who's known to have had involvement in organized crime and a judge who is too lenient on the real animals who are out on the streets. Both of them have really made the streets safer, haven't they?

"But you all know my record. It's public and available for anyone to see. And when I make mistakes, I own up to them. My opponents? Now their mistakes are out in the open, and I don't see them owning up to them. They are the ones making a joke of the system. I still respect it. I follow it to the letter. Most importantly, I do my job, the one you gave to me four years ago. I'm asking you to do again for another four years. I'm far from finished and I will not rest until this great city is better than when I found it."

* * *

" _I got a tip on Thorne's LTs,"_ Black Canary's voice suddenly announced.

Batman and Manhunter were just approaching the door to the stairwell when the call had been made. Stopping in their tracks, each vigilante pressed a hand up to their ears and listened intently. _"There's a couple of them on the 2nd floor; I repeat, LTs are on the 2nd floor."_

"And that's where we'll be going," Manhunter murmured as she then moved for the door.

While he agreed with her, that needed to wait. "All points, what's your position and status," Batman said into the comm link.

Immediately, Black Canary answered, _"Batgirl and I are on the 7th floor. We have a couple more rooms to check but we'll skip them to head to the second."_

A moment later, _"Nightwing and I are finished with the 9th,"_ Huntress reported.

"Huntress, move onto the 10th floor and clear it out," Batman immediately ordered. "We don't' need any more reinforcements surprising us. Canary, finish your floor. When your teams are done, head to the first floor. These people will be fleeing that way. I don't want a single person to escape."

" _Roger that,"_ Black Canary responded, followed by Huntress replying, _"You got it, B."_

That just left one team and they didn't wait too long after that to answer. _"This is Robin and Katana on 4. We just finished the floor."_

"Which side of the building are you on?"

" _South side."_

"Meet Manhunter and I in the stairwell." Ending the transmission, the dark-clad man approached the door to the stairwell, where Manhunter opened it and moved through the doorway. Once he had done the same, Batman leaped down the set of stairs, landing on the landing. Taking a step as he turned around, he did the same thing with the next set of stairs.

Once he had landed, he looked to the entrance of the second floor. A moment later, Manhunter joined him, staring at the door as well. They both heard a door opened, followed by it closing. Footsteps pounded on the steps, growing louder and louder until Robin and Katana appeared at the landing above them.

Eyeing everyone, Batman weighted the best way to approach this floor. No doubt it would be filled with heavily-armed guards, more so than the other floors. That meant they needed to go in full-force.

"Manhunter, you're out in front," Batman said, earning himself the attention of the group. "Katana, you're right behind her. Take out anyone and everyone in your way, whatever means necessary short of killing them. Robin and I will pick off whoever you miss."

"Sounds good to me," Manhunter replied, hefting up her staff. Without waiting for more instruction or protest, she opened the door and darted in, Katana right behind her. Batman was sure to be the next one through, leaving Robin to take up the rear.

Unlike the previous floors, this one had actual guards in the hallway, specifically at a room further down the corridor. All of them jerked their heads to look at the group of vigilantes simultaneously.

"Greetings, boys!" Manhunter shouted as she pointed the end of her staff at them. A moment later and a blast of energy fired, much to Batman's surprise. The blast burned through the air, causing the men to dive out its way, sailing by them harmlessly.

However, the moment it reached the end of the all, it detonated, smoke and flames erupting, coupled with a loud _boom!_ It seemed the DEO had been busy with their weapons program.

Using the attack as a distraction, Katana had shot out from behind her brunette comrade and raced down the hall. A flash of steel signified her drawing her sword and the moment she reached the men, she used it. The Asian woman was unbelievably fast, cutting the air with her sword as she bobbed and weave from side to side. Batman didn't fail to notice pieces of the guards' guns falling apart with every slice she made.

That was when a door next to the Dark Knight swung open. Turning his attention to the gunman in the doorway, the dark-clad man immediately lunged at him, ramming his elbow into the man's face and knocking him back. Finding himself in a room with stacks of cash wrapped in plastic wrap and two more men with guns, the vigilante went to work. There was no time to mess around and fight them two-on-one, not when there was an unknown amount of enemies on the floor.

Pulling out his shuriken, Batman sent two spinning through the air, hitting both men in the head, knocking them out cold. Pulling out another shuriken, he then made his way out into the hall.

Manhunter had gone to help out Katana, the two women knocking out the large group of men down the hall. Robin, in the meantime, was engaged with a thug a door down. There was another man lying on the floor unconscious, the younger man seeming to have trouble finishing off his current foe. He had him pressed against the wall and was sending shots to the gut over and over.

So of course that was when another gunman appeared out of an open door. Instantly, Batman sent his shuriken flying, knocking the man out much like his other comrades. Calmly, the vigilante approached Robin and his foe, drawing a fist back once he was near. The moment he was within hitting distance, he sent his punch flying, nailing the man in the face and bashing the back of his head against the wall. Slumping, he collapsed to the floor in a heap.

"I had him!" Robin shouted, jerking his head to the Dark Knight.

"So I saw," he replied blandly. Moving past the younger vigilante, he headed to a nearby closed door, pushing it open to peer inside, satisfied that it was empty. "Keep moving."

There was a time and place for machoness and this wasn't it. In fact, the Dark Knight had very little tolerance for it considering he had seen such bravado from the street punks he fought every night. Robin needed a serious re-evaluation of his priorities if he was more concerned with the number of bad guys he knocked out than with getting the job done.

Besides, they had some very important people to capture.

* * *

The sound of an explosion destroyed any thought that everything was okay. Now Frankie was starting to think that Laurence's paranoia had not been some BS after all. From in here, he could hear the sounds of a fight out in the hallway.

Someone had come into their turf and was making a mess of Mr. Thorne's property. That was unacceptable.

"Aim at the door," the gangster order, committing deed to word as he aimed his pistol. "There's only one way in here. I don't care who's on the other side, first person to come in is Swiss cheese."

"I told you something was wrong," Laurence snarked.

"Shut up." Seriously, the time for "I told you sos" was later. It was kill now, ask questions later time.

The sounds in the hallway were quieting, so any second now, their unwanted guests were going to come in. Fine, let them. A body full of lead ought to show whoever it was who they were messing with.

As it turns out, they were aiming at the wrong place.

It was the wall directly to their right that blew up on, dust and smoke covering the very big hole that had been punched into it. The sound had been deafening, stunning the men who were using their arms to protect their heads from any flying debris.

Frankie cried out as something struck his hand, his gun flying out of his grip and to who knew where. God damn that stung! The blond-haired man turned his head away from his smarting hand and towards—was that a fist?

Frankie's eyes snapped opened. He was laying on his back, staring straight up at the ceiling. Slowly, the sounds of screams and breaking furniture, as well as gunshots began to be registered. Tilting his head up, the goon could only see what looked like a massacre. There was this dark _thing_ that was taking two of his boys on at once, and beating the absolute crap out of them. It was moving so fast he could barely track its movements.

And over there, there was some chick in red and yellow with a samurai sword? Where the hell did someone like her get one of those? And holy shit, she was cutting up any gun that was aimed at her. No seriously, even from where he laid, he saw that long-ass blade cut through gun barrels and then the rest of the gun and somehow, _somehow_ not cut up his boys' hands.

From the corner of his eyes, he saw Laurence picking himself up, looking a lot worse than the last time Frankie last saw him. Ooh, he had a gun in hand too, and he was aiming it at the dark thing from earlier, which was just turning to face his partner-in-crime.

Oh. OH. That was that freak, that Batman guy, wasn't it? And that look he was giving Laurence, it was worse than anything Mr. Thorne had given. Not that Frankie was scared or anything, because it was going to take more than some idiot in a Halloween costume to scare him, you know?

Still, Laurence had him in his sights, and man, Laurence was a crack shot. Batman was going down.

A long stick suddenly came out of nowhere, getting Laurence right in the back. Laurence cried out as he stumbled forward, then fell onto his face as he was tripped. A booted foot kicked his gun out of his hand, the weapon spinning as it slid across the wooden floor. A rap with the butt end of the stick knocked Laurence out of good, or so he thought. Couldn't tell at this angle.

What the hell was happening here? Why was this…? No, no time for questions. He needed to get out of here. Mr. Thorne needed to know about this as soon as fucking possible. But how was he going to get out of here without attracting any of those freaks' attention?

He didn't have to wait long to find out. A couple of his boys busted into the room from the door, carrying shotguns that they were firing without waiting to aim them. Anything in their general direction would do. While Frankie would've called them idiots, they did cause those freaks to scatter like cockroaches exposed to light as they ducked for covered.

It was Frankie's opportunity to scram.

Rolling onto his stomach, Frankie scrambled his way behind the cavalry who continued to fire shot after shot, pumping their guns between each one. Before he reached the door, the blond-haired man noticed a few small boxes of diamonds on the floor, knocked away from the others thanks to the fight that was happening. He snatched up what he could before making his break out of there.

What he could do with these diamonds, he didn't know, but maybe it would save him from Mr. Thorne getting angry at him. Now, he just needed to get out of here without anybody seeing him.

Sorry Laurence, but he couldn't take you with him.

* * *

At long last, a long night was coming to what looked like an end. As Harvey left the stage, he was greeted by a fawning Gilda who praised him for his performance. While he knew to expect that from his wife, he also knew that she was heavily biased in his favor.

Nonetheless, it still felt good when she told him that he had done a great job "showing the others who was boss!"

On a more practical base, it was Carlos' reaction that was more important. The man's sole job was to manage his reelection campaign, his goal being nothing other than it being successful. In comparison to Gilda, Carlos should be more level-headed, preferably down-to-earth.

"I think that ending was a bit much," his campaign manager stated.

"How was that too much?" Harvey asked as the trio trekked further backstage, heading towards the changing room.

"I think it was a bit too aggressive, at least when you started attacking Weinstein and Harkness," Carlos pointed out.

"What was I supposed to do? Let them attack me?" the district attorney retorted. "Half the night was the both of them tag-teaming me. Weinstein I fully expected to do that, but I thought Harkness had too much integrity to go that way too."

"Well, maybe that'll work to our advantage," Carlos said, trying to sound hopefully. "I'll keep my ear to the ground, try to see how the public's reacting. If we have to, we might want to try for another debate, one done on our terms."

"Another debate? Really?" Harvey deadpanned. "Do you really want to feed me to the wolves that badly?"

"Are you so sure that you're not a wolf? You did call Weinstein a maggot," Carlos pointed out.

Harvey blinked at that. Why didn't he remember saying something like that? The way his campaign manager put it, the attorney should have. Had he blacked out during the debate? Even if it was just for a second? "If you say so." There, something neutral to try and cover up.

"Well, maybe that's what your campaign needs. For you to be more of a wolf," Gilda spoke up. "You're going for a tough on crime approach, aren't you? You can't just be tough on the job, but also on the campaign trail. You need to show everyone you can take whatever is thrown at you and that the others can't. If they can't stand up to you, how can they stand up for the city?"

That's not a bad idea. Still, it couldn't all be toughness, though.

"I could do that," Harvey said, "but I think I'll need to do more. Something that can get me some good PR."

"You have any ideas, Harv? Because I'm all ears," Carlos quipped. "I think we should wait until we find out the results from the debate. For all we know, you might have taken a hit or you did a good enough job that you don't have to do anything. We won't know until tomorrow."

"All the more reason to start something now. Make sure we're ahead," Harvey stated. "The moment we rest is the moment Weinstein and Harkness catch up. Can't let that happen. So what can I do? It's gotta be something that gets me in touch with people, even if it's a small group of them."

"We could have another fundraiser but we're good on money so far. Ever since you got Bruce Wayne on board, we haven't had to worry too much about our budget," Carlos shrugged.

"Not a fundraiser, something smaller. Something that'll have a spillover effect," Harvey dismissed, thinking aloud to himself.

"A spillover effect? How do you propose to do that, whatever it is?" Carlos questioned, giving a small chuckle.

"I still have to be the district attorney, and right now I have a case I'm building that's huge. Between that and campaigning, I don't have a lot of time." Harvey swore to himself. There had to be something he could do.

"What about that serial killer?" Gilda asked.

"Zsasz? I don't think he'll be helpful to the campaign." Harvey visibly grimaced. The last thing he needed to do was get someone as sick as that monster helping him out.

"Not him, his victims. They all have families, right?" Gilda continued. "If you can, maybe you could squeeze them in somewhere, meet them face to face, one family at a time. Comfort them in their time of need. If you impress them, they could go to their friends and family and convince them for you to vote for you."

"You really think that'll help, Gilda? They might not want to have anything to do with that case," Carlos said, shrugging his shoulders.

"It's something," Harvey replied. "Yeah, the Zsasz killings are still in the news, and he has killed quite a few people. I forget what the number is, but if we could get some of those families in and they do what Gilda suggested, because they want to make sure Zsasz gets what's coming to him, they'll want me to still be in office so he gets sent to whatever hellhole he'll end up in."

"Harvey, you're rambling," Gilda told him, patting his shoulder. "What are you going to do?"

"I'll try it," the district attorney stated. "What can it hurt? It's something to do, and I can fit it in with my schedule."

"Sure about this, Harvey? We can still come up with something else," Carlos suggested.

"Nah, beside, it's Gilda's idea," Harvey said, looking deeply into his wife's eyes. "And she's never steered me wrong before."

* * *

The flashing of red-and-blue lights marred the face of the building. Squad cars were parked all over the street and even in the courtyard in front, surrounding the building from all sides. What seemed like an endless stream of cops walking out bruised thugs poured out of the front entrance.

Standing on the ledge of a building across the street, Batman watched the proceedings. So far everything was moving like clockwork. His attention narrowed immediately when he saw a Laurence Hess being dragged out on the sidewalk, and forced to a nearby cop car.

That had been one of the biggest scores of the evening; Hess was one of Thorne's lieutenants, which put him in position to know everything about his boss' dealings and the inner workings of his crime empire. Though a damn good deal was going to have to be made by Dent, the opportunity to get Thorne behind bars was practically sitting in their lap.

Throw in the diamonds, drugs, and illegal arms and tonight's bust was a clean sweep.

Turning away from the scene, Batman saw the rest of the vigilante's standing on the roof, each one looking to the scene before them. Nightwing and Robin glowed with excitement and pride while the Birds of Prey were satisfied with the fruits of the labor. Huntress had the same look as her former teammates, though a smirk was plastered to her face. Batgirl seemed indifferent to everything, which made her hard to read for the Dark Knight. He hadn't received a debriefing from Black Canary concerning her actions and that was something he was looking forward to.

"I think we did pretty good here," Manhunter spoke up them, causing everyone to finally turn their attention away from the cops. "Thorne's going to find life pretty difficult after this."

"You have to wonder though," Huntress spoke up, "just how many operations like this he has all over the city. If he was able to get away with this place for so long, he's bound to have more."

Robin perked up at those words. "How many do you think he could have?"

The purple-clad vigilante shrugged her shoulders. "No telling. All I know is Thorne is pretty arrogant and if he knew he could get away with something like this, then he'd do it. The old Mob families wouldn't have dreamed of putting all of their operations under one roof, that I can assure you."

"Which means we need to find where these other places are," Black Canary said. "Though I'd think once Thorne hears about this, he's going to do some major restructuring."

All of these were good points. In fact, Batman was counting on Thorne to be proactive in making sure another of his fronts wasn't this damaging. It wouldn't be happening tonight though, what with the police on high alert. The Dark Knight was sure he'd be hearing about movement in the coming days and that would give him the location of more of Thorne's operations.

"Everyone should take the rest of the night off," the dark-clad man said. "After this, there's not a crook in the city that's going to try something. Thorne won't make any moves either, not with the current police presence in the city. Once he does though, we'll be on him."

That got all of the vigilantes' attention. "We?" Nightwing questioned. "As in all of us, not just your little team?"

"There's going to be multiple simultaneous moves in the coming days," he admitted, "and I can't be everywhere. Everyone keep their ears to the ground and when you hear of something, get in touch with whoever you can."

"He's right," Black Canary acknowledged. "For now, everyone get home. We all deserve the rest."

With that, they began to break up in their various groups, even though Batman kept his eyes on the blonde haired woman. He was just about to approach her when Huntress stepped towards him.

"So what, you're accepting everyone now?" she inquired, an irritated tone in her voice.

The dark-clad vigilante glanced to her. "I'm not expecting the Batclan to be of much help, if that's what you're getting at. The only ones with actual intelligence gathering is us and the Birds. I don't plan on including them if I can help it."

The corner of Huntress' mouth twitched up in amusement. "Here I thought you were starting to soften up on them. I guess I shouldn't have worried."

Batman didn't bother responding to that remark. Instead he said, "I need to talk with Canary for a moment. You and Batgirl head for the old clock tower; we'll rendezvous there for a debriefing."

"You got it." The dark-haired woman then turned to Batgirl, which caused the younger girl look to her. "Follow me," she said simply before pulling out her grapple and heading for a different part of the roof, Batgirl following her. Content with seeing that, Batman then made his way towards the Birds of Prey, who had moved to the opposite side of the roof. They were standing at the ledge, talking lowly to each other.

This allowed the Dark Knight to close the distance between them before they could depart. "Canary," he called out to them once he was close by, causing the three women to look to him. "A word?"

The blonde woman stared for a moment before she slowly nodded. "You two go on without me," she spoke, not looking to her comrades. "I'll catch up."

Manhunter and Katana nodded before they descended off the roof, leaving Canary and Batman alone. "What do you need?" she asked him.

"Batgirl," he bluntly responded. "I need to know how she was with you; if she did anything that warrants any concern."

Black Canary didn't even hesitant. "Who the hell is this girl?!" she blurted out. "I've never seen anyone do the things she can."

A sickening feeling began to well up in Batman's gut, his stomach dropping. Just her tone told him that something had happened. "What did she do?"

"Aside from knocking just about every punk in that place in midair?" Canary asked rhetorically. "The ease she did it in? There wasn't a single person in there that stood a chance at beating her."

That was unexpected. Was Canary really that taken aback by Batgirl's fighting prowess? Considering her background and the people she spent time with, she shouldn't have been that surprised.

That was until she hit him with a hammer-sized verbal blow. "Did you know she can dodge bullets?"

Had it not before for the lens in his mask, the blonde would've seen the dark-clad man blink his eyes owlishly at those words. _Dodge bullets?_

It seemed she wasn't done either. "And I don't mean from across the room. There was this one guy, point blank, emptied a clip at her and not a single bullet hit her. You don't have to be a good shot at this range he was at to make Swiss cheese out of a person, yet not one shot hit her."

Black Canary then ran a hand through her hair, taking a deep breath as she did so. "The best that I can come up with is that she can read body language pretty damn well—and even that's a stretch. I know your master martial artists have that ability, but that's after decades of experience. Batgirl can't be more than fifteen or sixteen."

It seemed Batman needed to review the footage from Batgirl's own lens cameras. If what Black Canary was saying was true, he'd see this incident and be able to analyze it thoroughly. That said, he was pretty certain his colleague had figured out what had happened, even if she didn't quite believe it.

"Batgirl has undergone intense, if not abusive, training," the Dark Knight responded. "She was supposed to be the best assassin ever trained when I met her."

"And you want someone like that patrolling the streets?" the blonde woman demanded.

"Not initially. I tried to persuade her otherwise, but she was wouldn't have it. She's a born-fighter and nothing I did was going to change that. So right now I'm trying to give her an outlet, retrain her even. Tonight was the first night she wasn't under my supervision."

Black Canary was quiet following that. "You don't think she'll be like the previous Batgirl, do you?" she questioned softly.

Though he remained stoic, the dark-clad man winced internally. He was well aware of what happened to Barbara Gordon. As far as he knew, the Birds of Prey just knew the original Batgirl was unable to continue their vigils, most likely assuming the worst. Cassandra, though, was no Barbara Gordon.

Looking out into the city, the Dark Knight stared silently at the skyline. "If what you're telling me is true, there's not a single human being that can touch her," he finally told her.

"Ever."

* * *

Author's Note: If anybody has any questions about Batgirl dodging bullets, ShadowMajin has informed me that this is something she has actually done in the comics. That's where he got it from. If you want to argue about it, you can do it with him, you know where to find him. Anyway, this makes the longest chapter in the whole story to date. I think this safely brings Act 2 of this story to an end, but don't think it's over yet. There's quite a bit of story left and things ought to be getting downright nasty in them.


	21. Get a Scoop

Get a Scoop

Working late nights was getting to the shrink, but Erie was dedicated to his work if nothing else. Sometimes a person in his profession had to give up precious hours of sleep in order to make sure they were on the right track. That included reflections on current casework, documentation, and of course covering his ass.

In case of a complaint or malpractice suit, what else would he mean by that?

Now, while it wasn't encouraged, Erie had the habit of bringing the files of certain clients home with him. Sometimes a change in setting was necessary to gain a new perspective on a client, or at the very least the time interval between leaving the office and arriving at home took your mind of it long enough that you could look at it with a fresher set of eyes. Said files were in a briefcase he was currently carrying.

With his coat held in one arm, he approached the door to his penthouse and inserted the key into the lock, finding it a bit odd when he discovered that the door itself wasn't locked. There was no tell-tell sliding of the locking mechanism, meaning he either forgot to lock up that morning or something was off.

Hmm, why couldn't he remember if he had locked up this morning?

Well, he could go in cautiously. What were the odds that someone had entered his home if he had indeed left it unlocked? Considering where his penthouse was located, it was highly unlikely.

Shrugging his shoulders, he opened the door and entered.

He came to a complete stop as he found his home lit up and with several guests waiting there, all of their eyes trained on him. Only one of them was sitting, on a couch no less, the rest were standing at what appeared to be random locations. Of those standing, they all looked like the rough type, brawlers, street fighters, and the like, their clothing being tight or covered with light jackets.

The only individual who was sitting was much more well-dressed. Overly dressed when compared to the other men. It was obvious, this white-haired gentleman was the leader.

So, Erie did what he would normally do in this particular situation.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" he asked, showing no sign of fear or anxiety.

"Dr. Victor Erie, I presume?" the white haired gentleman asked. Getting a nod from the shrink, the well-dressed man continued, "Close the door and have a seat. You and I have something to discuss."

Anyone else would have attempted to escape. Anyone else would have tried to protest. Anyone else would have tried to object. Erie was not anyone else; he placed his coat on the nearby coat rack, closed the door behind him, and strolled over to his favorite chair, currently unoccupied. He placed his briefcase down on the floor as he took his offered seat.

"I think you and I might get along," the white-haired gentleman chuckled. "Tell me, do you know who I am?"

"You resemble a man by the name of…Rupert Thorne, I believe," Erie answered without skipping a beat. "Shall I refer to you by that moniker or do you prefer something else?"

"Rupert will do," Rupert said. "Before we begin, I would like to get something straight with you, Victor. I'm a very easygoing man. I'm not quick to anger. Most of all, I dislike violence. My boys here, on the other hand, they are more the type to hit first, ask questions later."

Rupert's "boys" gave taunting chuckles, sneering and smirking at him.

"As long as you work with me, I believe your chances of…I don't know, having an accident will be very slim," Rupert continued. "You see, my boys listen to me. If I say don't hurt the doc, they won't. Now, if you bore me with any of your psychobabble nonsense, I might zone out for a moment, more than enough time for one of them to get out of line and cause you some discomfort."

One such "boy" took a position behind Erie, cracking his knuckles to underscore the point as he grinned wickedly down at the shrink.

"Very well," Erie agreed, reaching up a handle to adjust his glasses. "What do you wish to discuss?"

"It has come to my attention that Harvey Dent has been coming to see you," Rupert stated.

"I cannot confirm or deny if anyone by that name has been to see me," Erie spoke up immediately.

"Now, now, Victor. There's no need for that," Rupert remarked, an edge in his voice making itself known.

"It is for confidentiality reasons that I say that," Erie replied. "If you were to see me and the police came around asking about you, I would say the same thing. With that said, what is it you want? It is obvious to me that you aren't here to talk about a man named Harvey Dent."

"Alright, let's get straight to the point. You shrinks all keep files on your patients, right? I want the one you have on Harvey Dent and don't you deny that you are seeing him," Thorne warned.

"You have to understand, Rupert, I cannot say if I have a client by that name," Erie said, seemingly unfazed by the threat. "If I did, I would lose my license to practice. You of all people should know how hard it is get licensed."

"I wouldn't," Rupert deadpanned.

"Well, what I can tell you is that I am seeing an individual who may be involved in a campaign for the district attorney's office," Erie said. "In fact, I have this person's file with me in my briefcase. Let me tell you, I am quite concerned about this…person. Unfortunately, I am in no position to do anything about it."

"You don't say," Rupert prompted, apparently catching on.

"Indeed," the shrink agreed. "However, I do believe a man in your position might be able to." Reaching down, he picked up his briefcase and placed it on his lap. Opening it up, he shifted through the various folders until he removed one. "Now, how this file happens to reach you, I don't know. I can't know. Otherwise I would be in a lot of trouble." Erie turned his head to his left and casually held the selected file up with his right hand. "I hope you understand my position."

From the corner of his eye, he observed Rupert looking up at his "boy" and nodding his head. The file he held was tugged out of the psychiatrist's loose grip. The "boy" carried the folder over to Rupert who received it with all the dignity of a king, and opened it quickly with the grace of a paparazzi reporter.

Erie closed his eyes then, holding back a chuckle. Aloud, he spoke, "I hope a concerned citizen such as yourself realizes the enormity of the situation. As I am bound by a code of ethics that prevents me from ever divulging any information regarding that file, a man of your stature isn't."

"This isn't all bullshit?" Rupert demanded. "Tell me this isn't bullshit."

"There is absolutely no reason for me to falsity a client's file, Rupert," Erie replied. "While I cannot confirm or deny the truth about the information, the client whose name is on that file will be able to."

"You shrinks and your vague answers." The edge in Rupert's voice was gone, replaced with a more jovial tone, one similar to how he had introduced himself this night. "I'll take that as a convoluted yes."

"Rupert, if I may? I would ask a favor of you. You cannot implicate me in your reception of this information," Erie told the other man.

"As long as this is real, I'll say it fell off the back of a truck," Rupert replied. "However, if I find out you have been duping me, I will pay you another visit and it won't be as cordial as this one."

"Of course," Erie agreed.

"Come on, boys. Let's leave the doc here to his very nice penthouse." Erie opened his eyes again and observed through the corner of his eye as his late night visitors began following their leader out. A couple looked disgruntled that they hadn't been able to pummel anything and they took aggressive stances as they passed him.

Amateurs.

Erie waited until he heard the sound of his front door closing shut before he gave out a chuckle. Simpletons, pawns, the lot of them. Did they really think they had intimidated him? He had been in the company of worse individuals and had come out without a feather ruffled.

Games of intimidated did not work on him. Nonetheless, Rupert's initiative of coming to see him warranted a reward of sorts.

It saved the shrink the trouble of contacting the mob boss himself.

* * *

"Thanks for letting me hitch a ride, Montoya. Things are just getting ugly at the station."

Bullock heaved a sigh as he sat back in his seat, a passenger in his former Rook's squad car. Normally, he'd be doing that task force business, but ever since Cort's suspension, things at the department had been getting ugly. If there were people who hadn't taken a side, they had now.

"It's not a problem, Harvey. Things have been getting tense," Montoya agreed, eyes on the road. For all the good that did, since they were in bumper to bumper traffic. An accident blocked off an intersection and you could have sworn all hell had been let loose. Or at least everything had stopped up and people who were stuck were getting pissed off.

Bullock snorted in reply to his Rook. "That's an understatement. Who knew Cort was so well-liked?"

"He might be a hardass, but he knows how to rally people. Especially when things are a mess," his Ro—ahem, Montoya pointed out. "He got everyone to that construction site, and quickly too, remember. Plus, some of the guys on his side are Gordon haters. Since you were involved, it's just a chance to make things hard for him."

"Christ, you'd think we were past that shit," Bullock grumbled.

"It's not as bad as you'd think. At least they're all still working." Montoya shrugged her shoulders as she blew air threw her lips. How very un-lady-like of her. Not that Bullock gave a shit about it. If you could slug a guy and break his teeth, then down a couple bottles of brew, you'd be sexy as fuck.

"Then what's with all the taking of sides. It's stupid," Bullock complained.

"It's all about Batman, you know," the lady detective explained. "There's a lot of guys out there who really hate him, like Cort. They want him out of the picture, even if they have to kill him to do it."

"He should answer for it, that's what he should do," Bullock growled.

"Who should?" Montoya glanced at him from the corner of her eye.

"The Bat freak, who else?" Bullock shot his former Rook a look before turning back to the back of the car in front of them. "It would make it a lot easier on us. No more of this pissing contest shit. Then we could really get some work done. Now be honest with me: what do you think?"

"About what?" Bullock narrowed his eyes at Montoya's cautious tone.

"You know. Batfreak."

Montoya took a deep breath in, not answering right away. In some ways, that told the lieutenant all he needed to know, but damn it, he wanted to hear it from the horse's mouth already. "I—"

The car shook at the same time he heard a loud thump. The thing is, the thump sounded like it came from above. Bullock blinked before looking over at Montoya, silently asking her if she heard what he thought he had. The look she gave him said she had.

Noise from outside the car diverted Bullock's attention and he found a bunch of people all along the sidewalk staring at their car. Some had their jaws wide open, eyes bulging out of their sockets. A couple had their phones up, like they were recording something.

Suddenly, getting a bright idea, Bullock rolled down the window and peeked his head out to see what was up. What he found was a giant animal, brown in color with large ass ears and some of the longest and sharpest teeth he had ever seen poking out of its mouth. Red, beady eyes were narrowing at him as a growl came from the large body that was bent over the roof of the car. The only other thing of note that Bullock saw were the toes of the thing's feet, sharp claws digging into the patrol car.

Slowly, Bullock pulled his head back in and faced forward.

"What is it?" Montoya asked.

"I don't know what it is, but the only thing I can think to do is shoot it then find out what it is," Bullock said in a calm and even voice. Then, he pulled out his gun, Montoya yelling his name right before he fired right up into the roof.

The patrol car shook as whatever was on top leapt off it, giving a loud screech as it did. Spotting the heads of the bystanders looking up told the lieutenant that the thing had gone up but had yet to come down. Shoving open the door, and counting his luck that he hadn't buckled up, Bullock threw himself out of the car, searching for the thing and finding it flying down the street.

Memories of the construction site fiasco came to him and he scowled. He remembered seeing something like that before, though there had been a lot more bats around. Was this Papa Bat then? Because those were a pair of very big wings it was using. And damn it, it was getting…away…?

Without warning, the giant bat thing divebombed downwards, and even from here he could hear the sound of the crash. Either that was a very loud sound or it was closer than he thought. Time to pursue on foot.

"Out of the way people! Cop coming through!"

You know, maybe pursuing on foot wasn't such a good idea. Bullock was not in the same shape he had been when he was younger. The belly might not have disappeared, but he hadn't kept such a rigorous exercise regime that would allow him to get fifty feet before he started to breathe hard. Not that such a thing was going to stop him!

Just…don't go too far, whatever the hell you were!

And damn it, people! Get the hell out of his way!

Finally, he reached the site where the bat-thing had landed and found an overturned vendor cart, its wares spilling out onto the sidewalk, and the large animal crouched on top of it. As if sensing him, the bat-thing snapped its head to stare him down, juice trickling from its mouth. In one hand that had ridiculously long fingers was the remains of a melon of some kind, a large bite taken out of it.

"Don't you dare move!" Bullock commanded as he attempted to aim his gun at it.

Attempted being the key word. Before he could get the barrel of his weapon aimed right, the bat-thing had took off back into the air, flapping those massive wings as it went higher and higher until vanishing over the top of a building.

Bullock swore to himself as he holstered his firearm. There was no way he was going to be chasing that thing down. And forget about any backup he could call for. They'd be searching this city all over for that thing and would find nothing. If it wasn't going to attack anyone, that monster was probably looking for some place to hide.

The lieutenant found his thoughts being interrupted as he registered someone yelling at him. Turning his head, Bullock found the person he assumed owned the trashed fruit cart gesturing wildly, and talking in some weird Middle Eastern language. Probably didn't even know a lick of English.

Rolling his eyes, Bullock grumbled, "Yeah, yeah, welcome to Gotham."

It got weirder with every year.

* * *

"Vale!" Harry's voice shouted, carrying over the constant chatter of the newsroom.

Vicki leaned back in her chair, twisting her head to a side so she could peer over the chair's shoulder. Her balding editor with the rather sad-looking combover was marching towards her, his necktie sloppily loosened and his shirt unkempt.

"What is it, Harry?" the redhead drawled as her boss came to a stop next to her.

"I want to know why you've decided to grow roots from your ass to your chair," Harry demanded, glaring down at her.

Vicki rolled her eyes. These outbursts were so annoying. Sure, everyone needed a kick in the rear to get going at times; Lord knew she needed it once. However, these little tirades were starting to become a weekly thing. It was a wonder that she got any work done.

"That's because I'm waiting for a few leads to come in," she replied lazily, looking away from the editor to stare at her computer screen. The prompt for her next story was on the monitor, though not much writing had taken place.

"Waiting," Harry repeated unimpressed. "Well, would you like to know what I'm waiting for? You to write an actual good article."

Vicki's eyes flashed with rage as she immediately glared daggers at her boss. "Up yours, Harry."

The man was not affected by her scowl, returning hers with one of his own. "It's been months since you put out a quality article, Vicki. You used to churn one out every couple of weeks, but now there's a better chance of the drought in California ending than you getting out of this funk of yours."

"I'll have you know I have a big freaking story I'm working on," the redhead continued to seethed. "It's just not ready is all."

"Oh really? Care to share with the rest of the class what you're working on?"

That gave the reporter pause. As much as she would've loved to rub her Batman/Bruce Wayne story in the man's face, she knew exactly what he'd say. That she was crazy; that she should drop the story; that she better be damn certain she was right about this. Hell, he'd probably make her scrap the entire thing after calling it a big waste of time.

"Well, the thing is, it's not quite ready," she stumbled over her words. "That's why I'm waiting on these leads to pan out. Trust me, it'll be worth the wait."

That did nothing to sway Harry. "Consider me unimpressed. Do you know what impresses me, Vicki? The GCPD going guns blazing into an empty construction site. A swarm of bats invading the city. The major diamond bust on the East Side. Take your goddamn pick, any of them are a lot more entertaining than some mysterious story you claim to be working on."

Vicki couldn't help but roll her eyes again, which only served to piss Harry off further. "Don't you give me that look," he snapped harshly. "Our subscribers are leaving, which means we're not making as much money as we used to, which means this newspaper isn't doing well, which means more of this lazy shit you're doing is putting you right at the top of the list to get pink-slipped when management decides layoffs are the only way we can survive."

"You wouldn't dare," Vicki shot back just as harshly. "I'm one of the top reporters at this paper. You get rid of me and you lose your star. No damn way would you _ever_ fire me."

"Oh, really?" With a flourish, Harry pulled a folded up newspaper from beneath his arm and slapped it down on the desk in front of her. Eyeing it, there was a black and white photo of some dot flying in the sky. It was hard to tell what it was, but the headline screamed GIANT BAT SIGHTED.

"What the hell is this?" the redhead questioned.

"That is the latest hot story running around the city," her editor replied. "There have been sightings of some giant bat running around."

"Okay, so?"

"So? Look who published it. The goddamn Gazette. Not the Star."

"I still don't see—"

"Shut your damn mouth," Harry interrupted loudly. "What I'm saying is that the other papers have got the inside scoop on this so-called giant bat. We're at the end of the fucking line with our coverage. Now, if you want to keep your job, you're going out there to find out everything you can on this bat-thing. Then you're going to find out something that none of the other media outlets know so that way _we're_ the ones leading on this story."

As much as Vicki didn't want to, she had to admit that she probably needed to do the story. Now that she honestly thought about it, she hadn't been producing much work since she started on her operative theory concerning the city's number one vigilante. She would just have to work on that story as a side project rather than her main one.

"Alright, I'll see what I can dig up," the reported relented.

"Good, and Vale? Don't screw this up."

* * *

This was starting to get to become too common for Francine's tastes.

The last few nights, she had been finding herself going to bed alone. Kirk never appearing until after she was fast asleep. Or so she thought. Because, she was waking up only to find him about to leave before she could even begin her morning routine.

Only yesterday had she found out about Abraham's offer, and she could understand why it would make Kirk skittish. It wasn't as if that man hadn't intruded into their lives before, and Kirk had become scarce after such incidents, but not to this extent. Now that she knew about it, Francine had figured that things would start going back to normal.

But they hadn't.

In fact, when she had woken up this morning, Kirk had been nowhere in their humble apartment. It was like he hadn't come home, or if he had he hadn't stayed long. What was going on with that man?

It was too early in the morning for this. So, stalling before getting into her morning routine, Francine prepared herself some toast and looked up the news online. Her small breakfast had only just finished toasting when articles about some bat creature took up the monitor on her laptop. It was probably some hoax by some yahoo with too much time on their hands. Why practically every media outlet was reporting on it like it was fact mystified her.

Still, it got her mind off Kirk. Oh damn it.

With some peanut butter spread on her toasted piece of bread, Francine had just taken a crusty bite out of it when the doorbell rang. And here she was still in her nightwear and robe. Continuing to chew, she wiped her mouth off and headed towards the door. She was halfway there when the thought of Kirk forgetting his house keys came to her. A thought as ridiculous as those bat stories online; Kirk had never forgotten his house keys.

It was probably a salesman or Jehovah's Witness. Regardless, she was going to tell whoever was on the other side of the door that she wasn't interested and then return to her unfinished breakfast. She didn't even bother to check the peephole as she unlocked the door and opened it.

Immediately she regretted that.

"Francine," greeted the imposing form of Abraham Langstrom, a stern gaze staring her down. It was a look designed specifically for intimidation. It would've worked on anyone, especially Kirk, but Francine was not in the mood for it.

"Abraham. What are you doing here?" she demanded, using her body to block the only entryway into her home.

"Where is he?" the business tycoon demanded in return. Without waiting for her to answer him, Abraham used his larger frame to shove her out of his way and he marched his way into the apartment. "Robert! Get out here."

" _Kirk_ is not here," Francine informed the large man. The Langstrom patriarch had had to bend down to get in here, his height too great for him to simply stroll through. "And I would appreciate it if you left my home, Abraham."

"He's hiding, isn't he?" Abraham rounded on her, his face a mask of hardened stone.

"He's working," she retorted. It was the first thing to come out of her mouth, even though she was not sure where her husband was. Still, she was not about to let this bastard bad mouth him.

Steely brown eyes bore into her, a scowl twisting thin lips ominously. "I will not tolerate any lip from you. I have business with my son that needs to be addressed, and one way or the other, I will speak with him."

"If it's about my husband's work, I believe Lincoln has settled the matter," Francine stated, refusing to back down. She would not be intimidated or frightened in her own damn home, thank you very much!

Abraham stared her down for a moment before he spoke again with that condescending tone of voice he always had. "I had high hopes for you, Francine. When we first met, I saw how ambitious and motivated you were, the complete opposite of that good for nothing wimp I have to call my own offspring. I had hoped that your drive would push that weakling to actually make something of himself, but I've only ever been disappointed."

"That weakling has made something of himself, no thanks to you. Now get out of my house," Francine growled.

"Oh yes, hiding behind his wife like a coward. Yes, Robert has made something of himself, hasn't he?" the businessman taunted back. "He's made himself an even greater disappointment. And then he has the gall to hide behind that weasel, March. Spineless as always and having others fight his battles for him."

"Kirk doesn't need to fight battles."

"Don't test me, Francine. Like I've told Robert countless times, I will not go easy on you," Abraham warned as he turned on his heel, heading towards…the bedroom? That wasn't…

"Where are you going?" Francine shouted after the intruder, following after him. "I will call the police and report you for trespassing."

She should have gone through with that threat already, she knew, but she was too infuriated with this piece of shit to put actions to words. Abraham was at their bedroom dresser, shoving aside the knickknacks and various possessions they had placed on the flat surface.

"What are you doing?" She was making a lot of demands this morning.

"Are you so sure Robert isn't here?" Abraham asked as he looked over his broad shoulder at her, holding up a hand where, clinched between a beefy finger and thumb, was a…hearing aid? "Knowing how impaired he is, I doubt he would leave home without these," he continued. "Where is he?"

While Abraham brought up an excellent point, Francine was in no mood to humor him. "I've already told you, he's not here. Now how about you leave?"

Instead of heeding her, Abraham returned his attention to the dresser, snagging up a wallet that still remained there and opening it up. Francine was caught off guard as she recognized it as Kirk's, though why it was here when it should have been on him confused her. On top of the fact that Kirk's hearing aids were still here, too many questions were being brought up too quickly for her to process them all.

Abraham, meanwhile, had pulled out various business cards and was leafing through them. He stopped on one that seemed to catch his attention and plucked it out before tossing the others aside.

"Robert is seeing a shrink? That boy never ceases to disappoint me," Abraham continued with his demeaning of Kirk. "Why am I always surprised by his increasing level of weakness?" Turning to her, he pressed his verbal assault, "I don't know who this Victor Erie is, but how dare you let him go to this man. He should be able to handle his problems by himself, not go to some head doctor and be convinced to get in touch with his feminine side."

"What Kirk does or doesn't do is no business of yours," Francine argued back.

"Everything he does is my business," Abraham corrected as he approached her. "As are you, my disappointment of a daughter-in-law. I will not tolerate this farce to continue. I'm going to do what I should have done a long time ago, and I'm going to start with this Erie person. Mark my words, Francine, this is only the beginning."

Leaning closer to her, he added, "Before I'm through, you will wish Robert had accepted my more than generous offer. You, Robert, and March."

Without saying anything more, Abraham finally left, striding out of the apartment like a man on a mission. Francine glared after him as she emerged from her bedroom, catching the sight of a broad back slipping out and disappearing through the open doorway.

He didn't even close the door behind him.

Growling, Francine hurried over to slam and lock it shut. No way would she chance him coming back in here. Pressing her back against the flat surface, she took in deep breathes to calm herself down from the aggravating situation.

The nerve of that bastard! Who did he think he was barging his way in here and going through their personal things? Calling his own son those horrible things and then talking down to her like she was less than nothing. And then he plans to go bother Kirk's therapist. Abraham was a bastard, through and through.

Then she began to go over that man's words. The details he had picked up, such as Kirk leaving behind not only his wallet but his hearing aids as well. Hearing aids that he was required to wear in order to hear anything. Why would he not have those? It didn't make any sense!

Okay, she knew what she needed to do. Kirk and her were going to have a talk, a very long talk. Not just about the hearing aids, but his recent behavior.

She was going to get to the bottom of this one way or another.


	22. Conspiracy Abounds

Conspiracy Abounds

Large hands gripped the newspaper tightly, the attention of Rupert Thorne not focused on the headlines of a large bat creature spotted in the city, but of the page 2 story of a bust in the projects.

The sun had barely risen over the horizon and Thorne was not in any good mood. Even with Dent's psychiatric file at his fingertips, the man's life in the palm of hands, he was furious. The sight of Frankie not making eye contact with him like the smug bastard he was, waiting for whatever decision he would make about his life, did nothing to soothe his anger.

Because Harvey Dent's life was not the only life he held.

Throwing the paper to a side like the garbage it was, Thorne leaned forward in his seat, hands pressed together with the fingers intertwined, elbows placed on the surface of his desk. His eyes glared straight ahead of him, not really seeing anything.

"At least I managed to grab those diamonds, right?" Frankie blurted out.

"Don't speak until I tell you to. **Got it**?" Thorne growled.

The hired muscle gulped and said nothing after that. Good. He'd live longer that way.

Thorne continued to think for a few more moments before he began speaking again. "That bust is going to cost me millions. Tens, no, hundreds of millions." He added a growl to express his anger. "The only good news," he continued, "is that the cops won't link it to me. I covered my tracks, the boys that were caught know better than to talk, and there's no paper trail I overlooked. Right?"

The "right?" was directed towards Michael Doubleday who was weathering the mob boss's anger quite well. "I've been double and triple checking all of your financial endeavors to ensure only legitimate enterprises are connected to you, Mr. Thorne."

Which meant only the legit stuff. Why couldn't that man just speak plain English right now? He was not in the mood to play translator.

But damn it, he had stood to make a mint with those diamonds! All the work smuggling them into the city, dealing with those spear-chucking warlords in Africa, preparing to flood the whole market, all of it wasted. The real kicker was that it wasn't some cop who stumbled on it by luck; the boys would have been able to handle that situation easy.

No, there was something that Thorne had been overlooking for far too long.

"We have a problem, gentlemen," the crime lord stated. "It's a problem that won't go away in four years. It's one that all others before me have ignored until it was too late. This city, _my_ city, has a vigilante infestation. And it's interfering with _my_ business."

"I can round up some boys and try to hunt them down," Frankie offered, eager to make up for this and hopefully spare his life.

"Frankie, keep your mouth shut so you don't look anymore like a moron," Thorne snapped, glaring the thug down. "It's obvious that you and the boys aren't up to the challenge. None of the other families were either. Falcone, Maroni, Valestra, all of them. I'm the last one standing, the king of the hill. It's obvious that they would come after me sooner or later."

Pushing his chair back and away from his desk, Thorne stood up and faced the windows behind him. The image of Gotham City stood stoically in front of him, ever the untamable beast it was.

"First it were those books those masked women took, and now it's my money. None of them will stop until I'm behind bars."

"I apologize that my efforts to retrieve those books have not proven successful," Michael piped up.

Thorne scowled but didn't reprimand him. Instead, he pressed on, "There has to be a way to deal with them. A frontal assault won't work because I don't know where they Goddamn are. I don't know who they are beneath the masks so I can go to their homes or take anyone important to them. I doubt they'd take bribes at this point."

So what could he do? How could he protect himself and his empire from those menaces? Again, he didn't know how many times he would repeat it to others or himself, his boys were not up to this. If Frankie's report was anything to go by, not even guns would be enough.

Then it hit him, an intuitive thought, an "ah ha!" moment.

If Thorne couldn't count on handling this problem in house, then he would have to go outside for help. Outside help, the kind of help that only money could buy. A lot of money.

Subtly, Thorne turned his head just enough so that he could eye the cases of diamonds that Frankie had managed to bring back with him. That would work.

"We need a specialist," he declared suddenly, letting the other men know his thoughts.

"What kind of specialist?" Michael asked, cautious.

"Why, anyone with the kind of skills needed to deal with dangerous individuals, particularly these vigilantes," Thorne explained as he spun around to face his numbers man. "Someone whose skills are top notched. They have to have a spectacular record, be able to do the impossible, and get results. Michael, I need you to find me every assassin, hitman, and freak of nature you can find that would be up to the task."

"The task of killing the vigilantes?" Michael asked for clarification.

About to reprimand him for asking such a stupid question when it had such an obvious answer, the crime boss stopped himself as he really thought about those words.

"And the vigilantes," Thorne corrected himself. "They'll be chump change. No, I need someone who would be able to kill the Batman. He's the one that brought out these masked creeps, and if he goes, it's only a matter of time until the rest fall. And since Batman has been doing this the longest, and has been the most successful, we need someone at his level. No, above it."

"Do you really think there's someone out there that could take on the Bat?" Frankie asked, though whether he was skeptical or genuinely caught up in the grandstanding, Thorne neither knew nor cared.

"Thanks to Batman, this world has become a lot stranger. If we look hard enough, we'll find someone able to take him down." Thorne nodded to himself, pleased with his reasoning. "More importantly, we need to make sure whoever they are, they'll accept diamonds as payment."

"But boss! Aren't we still gonna…?" Frankie gestured wildly at the carbonized rocks, losing the end of his question as he tried to wrap his pea-sized brain around this.

"The diamond scheme is a bust. It's gonna take years to take up the loss from it." And the anger was back, only now it was more fixed. "We cut our losses now, don't show any sign of weakness, and it'll blow over. In the meantime, Frankie, make sure that none of our boys talk. Michael, you get me all the names you can."

"And Harvey Dent?" Michael questioned.

Throne's gaze drifted down to the psychiatric file laying innocently on his desk. "He can wait a day or two. The election is still far from over and the closer we get to election night, the more damage that can be caused with our dirt. He'll be more willing to negotiate then. First we set into motion hunting season on the vigilantes, then we can finish any loose ends."

* * *

With Kirk's hearing aids in a pocket in her lab coat, Francine passed through the secure entrance ready to find and pin down her errant husband. While the last few days had been full of activity in the lab, she was somewhat caught off guard by today's activity. There was an air of franticness to it, and not an energetic kind of franticness. It was more rushed and some blindsidedness added to it. Had something happened?

Catching a research assistant who happened to be passing by, she made her query and didn't have to wait for the vague answer that came.

"Dr. Langstrom, oh, um… Something's happened to the lab rats. Um, I, it's something that you have to see for yourself," the assistant said hurriedly before taking their undismissed leave.

Her gut was starting to tell her that something wrong, and immediately she began looking for her husband. Usually she would be able to pick him out, but this time seemed to be the exception. He wasn't in his usual haunts in the lab or at any of the work stations that were visible.

Maybe she ought to find out about those rats, see what was happening.

Her destination set, she made her way deeper into the lab, finding more activity going on around the cages. Several of the other research team members were huddled together, shoulders hunched. It was hard to tell what they were saying to each other, or looking at for that matter. Well, she was part of this team too, and it was vital for her to know what was going on as much as Kirk.

Making her way over, she tried to see over the shoulders of her fellow staff members but wasn't able to see at first what was captivating them so much. She could hear their voices now that she was literally right behind him, but the content was going over her head. Were they…discussing about flaws in their serum? And what was this, what were these questions about where they had gone wrong?

"What's up, guys?" she asked aloud, trying to insert herself into this conversation that she needed to be a part of. Looks like they had been deep into what they were discussing, because the two team members she had ended up behind jumped and snapped their heads around to look at her. As a result, they moved away and inadvertently gave her a good look straight ahead—and what the hell was that?!

Francine knew what their lab animals looked like, in particular she knew what their rats looked like. They were supposed to have white fur, black eyes, and average sized body shape, tail length, etc…

In the cage that had once been hidden from her view was something that did not look anything like a rat. It was dark brown in color, about twice the size of their rats, and came complete with large ears and sharp fangs that it was snapping at threateningly at the other researchers. There were also these flaps of skin between and under its arms, but it was difficult to make out what they were.

For some reason, she was reminded of bats, though this was more of a nightmarish version of one.

"We just found out this morning, Dr. Langstrom," one of the gathered researchers spoke up. "One of the assistants was preparing for today's tests and when he went to check on the test subjects, he found this one, well, like this."

"That's not all," a second researcher added. "This assistant reported that he panicked, and as soon as he did, the rest began to change."

"The rest?" Francine repeated, looking away from the caged creature to the researcher who had spoken. Then her gaze shifted to the other cages.

Oh…God… There were more of them. Cage after cage, there were more and more transformed specimen. It was…unreal. Like one of those movies where science went horribly wrong.

"They've all changed," someone spoke. "All who were administered the serum. They've all become these… _things_."

"You've checked?" she asked, though she sounded more automatic than anything.

"First thing we did as soon as we got over ourselves and began checking. Each one in this row was injected. As was the row behind it. The rats in that one have also changes, though some have remained as, well, rats. We don't know why that is."

"We've been too focused on what part of the serum is responsible," someone else chimed in. "We haven't figured it out yet."

"Where's Kirk?" Francine interrupted, searching the faces of her fellow researchers. "Does he know about this?"

"He knows," was the affirmative. "He's over there."

Looking in the direction she was pointed in, Francine at last found where her missing husband was, sitting on a stool tucked in a corner between a wall and a work station. His head was bowed slightly, eyes staring dead in front of him. His arms laid in his lap lifelessly, his legs dangling against the stool.

"If you'll excuse me," she said before walking hurriedly towards Kirk. The man looked so devastated, and she couldn't help but feel the same.

Over the past few days, they had all felt like they were on to something. The animal testing had been beyond their expectations. Restored hearing that was not degrading in the slightest, and with minimal side effects like an increased body temperature and a few rashes, it was like they had accomplished what they had set out to do.

They had finally found their cure.

And now this…

"Kirk," she spoke gently, placing her hand on his husband's shoulder. "Kirk, can you hear me?"

Kirk's eyes lifted and captured hers. They were so broken with devastation, it sent a pang of hurt through her heart.

"Oh Kirk, I know," the female scientist said as she pulled him into an embrace. "I had wanted this to be it too. I'm sorry."

Now, she wasn't sure about this, but she could have sworn she heard Kirk repeat her. "Sorry?"

His next words, though, she heard plainly. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Turning her head, Francine was only able to see Kirk's profile, but it gave her a clear view of his ear. An ear that did not have a hearing aid in or attached to it. Recalling that the hearing aids that were suppose to be in front of her were instead in her pocket, right where she had placed them before coming here.

Had…had Kirk _heard_ her? That shouldn't be possible. He _needed_ his hearing aids to hear anything. Yet, this moment, right here, said otherwise.

Her resolve to speak with Kirk only increased. But not now. Not when the unexpected development of their lab rats before little monsters was still too fresh. She would support him like his spouse, like his co-worker, but once they went home, and she would be sure he would be home, then they would talk.

Francine would accept nothing less.

* * *

Cort did not want to be here, but as a condition for his reinstatement, this is where he needed to be. In a shrink's office. All this just to make people know he hadn't snapped or gone crazy. All so he could get back to doing his job, god damn it.

As soon as he could, he had looked for anybody who could take him on short notice. Somebody who would fill out the necessary forms that the union could use and make Gordon take him back. Then he could be back to trying to bring down those masked freaks making a joke of him and everybody else who wore the badge.

It took longer than a day to do. That pissed off Cort more than anything. Since the second he left Gordon's office he had been trying to get this all behind him, but already, one day wasted. Good thing he found someone who had an opening today.

Weird how the name of the guy was the same one Gordon had mentioned.

"I'd be more than happy to help you out, Maxwell," Dr. Erie had told him. "Before I do that, I need to ask you a feel questions and evaluate you. The reinstatement process is very strict about these things."

A man who was down to business. Cort liked it.

"So what do you want me to do? Tell you all about my childhood, because nothing happened. It was ordinary," the suspended police officer stated from his seat on the shrink's couch. It wasn't the kind of couch he had been expecting either, you know, the one where you lay on your back and stare up at the ceiling. This one was like something he found at his apartment. Just not as old and in better condition.

"Nothing of the sort," Erie replied. "I suppose we should get to the heart of the matter. Since this is about reinstatement, tell me about how you were suspended in the first place."

"I was doing my job, that's what I was doing," Cort growled. "I tracked that menace halfway through the city, brought in backup, and pinned the son of a bitch down."

"Forgive me, but, pin who down?"

Cort paused before rolling his eyes. "Batman, that's who."

"My, my, so were you able to apprehend him?"

"The answer's obvious, isn't it?" The sergeant glared at the glasses-wearing man who should use some of the fat cash he must have somewhere to get a better toupee. "I'll admit, I got a bit caught up in it, fired off a few shots, then there was an explosion. Then Bullock, a guy I have to work with, pulls rank and takes over. It was my damn bust, mine! Not his! The asshole is a lackey for Gordon, I swear."

"Then what happened?"

"A bunch of bats come out of nowhere. I don't know how else to say it. Then suddenly I see him. Batman. And he's in the middle of us, I'm like ten feet away, and I have a shot. Before I could take him down, my gun gets knocked out of my hand by a metal H, and then I see the bottom of a boot." Cort crossed his arms as he pushed back into the couch cushions. "I had him. I _had_ him. And he gets away."

"I am getting the sense that you're frustrated by that. Infuriated. Humiliated. The bane of your existence is right there in front of you and after everything you did, tracking him down, pinning him down, and doing everything right, it results in failure. It is more than reasonable for you to be angry," Erie remarked. "From what you have been telling me, you were doing your job upholding the law by chasing and arresting an infamous criminal. What was the reasoning for your suspension?"

Cort snorted. "The hoity toity who owns the site, excuse me, the construction site where I managed to pin Batman down at got his tits in a twist because we accidentally caused an explosion. It's collateral damage, it happens. Grow up, you bastard."

"I see." Erie nodded. "Money, basically."

"Damn right," the sergeant agreed. "I have to get back on the force as soon as possible. Somebody needs to keep the other men ready for the next time. We can't let that freak continue making a joke out of us. We're the ones supposed to be protecting the city, not him. If he wants to police, get yourself a badge and a gun."

"Without you, those sympathetic to your cause may lose faith."

"Oh yeah. Without me, they'll all back off and be nice little cops doing whatever Gordon wants them to do, which isn't bringing down Batman. If I didn't know any better, I'd think our own damn commissioner _supports_ him." Just the thought of it made Cort see red.

"A betrayal from the man who is supposed to lead you, to be the face of every police officer on the street," Erie remarked.

" _Yes_ ," Cort hissed, agreeing fully. "And anybody who thinks like him, they're traitors too. They don't deserve to be on the force. Like that lardass Bullock. And Gordon's pretty wife. And that wetback Montoya. I'm more surprised about Bullock. Out of everyone, I thought he understood."

"That is quite a few people you have named," Erie pointed out. "Could you tell me any others?"

"Not off the top of my head," he admitted, looking down for second before snapping his eyes back up. He couldn't show any signs of weakness, not even here.

"Then perhaps there are not as many supporters as you think," Erie said. "You yourself have said that a few of them are higher rank. What about those lower than your rank? Or equal to it? There may be more officers on your side than you think."

Cort had to think about that. And the more he thought about it, the more he saw that this shrink had a point. It was really only those in charge who liked the Batman. Everyone else had to hate his guts but didn't say or do anything, probably out of a fear of retaliation from the higher ups. So far only he had been saying anything about it.

"Sometimes, to do something good, you have to be unpopular." Erie's voice slipped through Cort's thoughts, moving through and wrapping around them like a mass of snakes. "You have to put yourself out there, even if you'll be condemned for it, because only you have the courage to do what is right. Given enough time, everyone will see it, but not right now. Not when everyone is in the moment."

"So what are you saying? What should I do?" Cort asked.

"I cannot tell you what to do," Erie told him. "Only you can make the decision that must be made. But remember, it is not only Batman out there flaunting the law. He has inspired others. That metal H you told me that disarmed you? From what I know, the Batman does not use such projectiles. He must have a protégé of his own, one he is training to continue his mad quest if anything should happen to him."

Cort's eyes widened at the revelation. Of course, why hadn't he thought about it! Why hadn't he paid attention to the rumors of other vigilantes out there? He had been so focused on Batman, he had ignored the other ones that had been popping out of the woodwork. He had been so blind!

"If you are to combat this infection of vigilantism, drastic measures may have to be taken," Erie remarked, his head tilted back so it looked like he was looking at the ceiling. "Again, I cannot tell you what actions you should take, only you know. However, if there is something I can do, it is do my part to speed up your reinstatement."

Yes, finally. Finally someone who got it. Someone who understood. And it was a shrink of all things!

"Now, to hurry this along, I want you to start filling these out. Just a standard evaluation, something I can show that says there is nothing wrong with you psychologically," Erie continued, as he left his seat and reached for a clipboard that was placed on a large desk. "As you fill these out, continue talking, if you will. Let us process your recent experiences further. Again, it is us covering our bases, if you will. The less that Gordon can use to continue your suspension, the easier and faster it will be to get you back on the force."

Cort was liking this guy, really he was. If only he had gone to him sooner.

Erie paused for a second before he threw out what was intended to be but definitely was a bombshell. "We don't have a lot of time to turn this around. It's only a matter of time until the next big crisis occurs."

"Crisis?" Cort repeated. "What do you mean by that?"

"Haven't you noticed the pattern that has been developing over the past few years?" Erie asked. "At least once a year, or less, some large scale event occurs that pushes this city to the edge. So far, Gotham has managed to avoid falling over it, but how lucky will it be the next time? Or the one after that? This city will need people like you on its side, pulling it back from the fall that is threatening it."

The police sergeant nodded his head, listening raptly to the shrink's words. Something about the way he said, Cort couldn't help but hear him out.

"And," Erie added, "if during such a crisis, the dangers of vigilantism were to become fatal, well, wouldn't the fault be on them?"

That was a very good point. No, a great point. If one of those law-breaking freaks happened to get shot during one of these crises, who would point fingers at the shooter, especially since no one would be able to prove that the killing shot was done on purpose.

"I think I get where you're coming from," Cort said.

Erie simply nodded, a triumphant smile curling his lips.

* * *

How Barbara heard the sound of her apartment door closing, she wasn't sure. The voices that had come with it fully brought her attention away from her computer. Oh man, her back was feeling a bit sore. Why couldn't that part of her be paralyzed too?

Wheeling her wheelchair back, she turned towards the two young men who were chatting up quite the storm, all excited-sounding and everything. Dick and Tim looked like they had patched things up. Glowing was one way to describe them, especially Tim. It made the wheelchair-bound woman wonder what was up.

She shifted her eyes from one to the other, taking in the small details. Dick had his arms crossed, but not in a defensive manner. There was a relaxed air to him in contrast to Tim who was moving his arms all over the place, doing most of the talking. Even though the two of them had come to her apartment, both were still in whatever world they were in.

A sharp whistle would see to that.

"Mind telling me what's gotten into you two? Kissed and made up already and found out you liked guys instead of girls?" she asked wryly.

"Joke all you want now, but wait until you hear what we've been up to," Tim boasted with all the arrogance of a teen high on a power trip.

"I think my earlier words still stand. Do I need to start asking you two for dating advice now?" she quipped right back at him.

"You're sounding better," Dick remarked instead of satisfying her curiosity.

"I've been busy. Now spill," she ordered, folding her hands into her lap. This had better be worth her time, even if she had too much on her hands nowadays.

"Should I tell her or you," Tim asked Dick, turning his head fully to the older male.

"I don't know, it's a toughie," Dick replied.

"I don't care who does," Barbara huffed, rolling her eyes at them. Honestly, sometimes they were like children. Why couldn't they get to the point of things already?

"I think I'll spare her the suspense," the teen teased. Turning back to her, he stated, "You'll never guess what we did last night."

"The suspense is killing me," she deadpanned, now crossing her arms. "Get on with it."

This had better be good.

"You remember that diamond stuff we'd been working on, right?" Tim asked instead of answering. He only continued when she gave him a look. "Well, Dick and I got together with the Birds to handle it. It was a big job and everything."

"So you got more muscle and brains to help out?" Barbara stated, summing it up.

"Hey, we have plenty of muscle," Tim complained.

"On Dick, yeah. And I noticed you forgot the brain part. Makes a lot of sense," Barbara snarked.

"Hardy har har," Tim drawled. "But that's not all. See, Huntress called in some big guns. That's right, we worked with Batman on this."

Oh. They did. Wow.

"Speechless, I see," Tim teased.

"It was a good thing we had him there," Dick cut in. "Turns out we really underestimated things. The whole complex was in on it, and there were more than diamonds there. Who knows how much this costed Thorne, but it has to be big."

Barbara's hands tightened around her biceps. This was so great to hear.

"I got to work with Katana again, and man did we kick some ass." Tim was getting excited about this again.

"Lucky you, I got stuck with Huntress. It was about the same as last time." Dick glanced over at her and frowned slightly. "Barb? Something wrong?"

"Everything is peachy keen," she snapped back, turning her wheelchair away from the duo.

Yes, it certainly was. It was always her dream to sit on the sidelines while everybody in the whole city got to work with one of the two men she idolized like no other. Damn it, if she hadn't been in the Goddamn wheelchair, she could have been out there too, fighting side by side with Batman and…and…just God damn it!

"Barbara, talk to me." Dick was suddenly in front of her, crouching down on his knees to better establish eye contact. "Don't retreat, tell me what's wrong."

All Barbara did was shoot him a look, one that said "What do you think is wrong?"

For a moment, all she had was Dick's look of concern before he spoke softly, "You wanted to be there too."

Congratulations, Captain Obvious. That should be your new vigilante name.

Dick lowered his head, his hands balling into fists. He was clenching them so tightly, his knuckles were turning white. Yes, be angry or whatever, it wasn't like it was going to make this any better.

There they were, her fantasy finally playing. For how long had she imagined going out with the rest of the Batclan, doing what they did best, saving people and stopping bad guys? And to do that while at the side of Batman, who approved of them enough to be willing to be there with them.

Of course, now of all times, when she is stuck in a wheelchair does it finally happen. It was so unfair that she would never be able to fulfill that fantasy. It was a dream that would never come true, no matter what Hollywood said about it. Ever since she was injured, she was trapped now in a body that she would never be able to fully control. To never leap through the night, or do the things she was used to doing on a regular basis.

It was enough to make her want to fall back in that dark place she had been slowly pulling herself out of. To throw out her computer and everything she had programed into it and forget about anything she could do with it.

"I would do anything to have had you there with us," Dick said quietly. "This was something I knew you wanted, more than either of us. And here we are rubbing it in your face. With friends like us, who needs enemies, right? Damn it, I'd take your place if it would make things better."

"No you wouldn't." Even though she could physically do it, she was going to put her foot down on that one. "It would kill you to be in this chair. I know enough about you that that's what would happen. Just, just leave. I'm happy you guys got to work with him, but I think it's time to admit what we already know. I'm out. I'm out for good."

"Don't say that!" Tim protested. "It's the three of us, remember?"

"It's two now, Tim. Wake up!" she snapped at the teen. "I can't help you guys anymore, and you've got to face it! I'm worthless!"

"Don't you dare say that!" Dick snarled at her. "Don't you ever say that, ever. You are not worthless, Barbara. You're the heart of this team, always have been and always will be. You're the reason we're here, you're the reason why we're still the Batclan, and if nothing else, you're going to be the reason why we're going to be at this a long time. If I hadn't had met you, I don't know where I'd be or what I'd be doing. Not this, for sure."

"Dick's right," Tim added. "Guys like us, we would have gotten ourselves killed a long time ago. Remember the early days? You kept us from getting too macho. Yeah, you were trying to be like Batman, cautious and everything, but we needed that. And we still need that. Christ, we still need you out there."

"But I can't be out there," she stated bitterly.

"If you had been there with us, we might have known that there was more to that Project than just the diamond stuff," Tim continued, babbling. Barbara didn't have to look at him to know that he was gesturing wildly with his arms. "You would have seen what Dick and I missed. We would have been better prepared."

"He's right," Dick agreed.

"It still doesn't change a thing," Barbara sighed, tilting her head back and letting her eyes drift up to the ceiling.

"You don't need legs to get information, right?" Tim babbled before suddenly cutting himself off. Heh, she could envision the wince he made.

"Bad choice of words, Tim," chastised Dick. Then to her, he said, "But he is right. There's lots of ways to get information, isn't there?"

"Like what?" Okay, she'd humor him, but he better come up with something good. Otherwise, she'd kick both of them out of her apartment. Or more like, run them out. Whatever. It better be good.

"Well, um…" Oh, this was priceless. Barbara lowered her head down enough so that she could watch Dick's panicking expression. Then, he spotted something, his eyes lighting up on it. "The computer! You can get information from a computer!"

"Toddlers know that much." The sarcasm was literally dripping from those words.

"I bet Thorne would have had something on his that could have clued us in to the Projects," Tim tried to put in helpfully. "An operation as big as that is kinda hard to keep track of if you don't put it down somewhere that you can go back to, you know?"

Not a bad point there. But she still couldn't see where she could get involved with that.

"Computer hacking's a thing too, isn't it?" someone put out there, probably still desperate.

Still, that was another good point. Computer hackers had been known to get into places they shouldn't be in.

"What are the odds Batman has a computer too?"

Probably pretty good. With the kind of gadgets he had, why, having a computer wouldn't be too far out there for him.

That led to another thought: how much crimefighting had Batman done where he needed to use a computer himself? Even if it wasn't crimefighting, that storage container Dick and Tim used as a base of operations meant that to get it there, some kind of computer work was at play.

The next thing Barbara knew, she was eyeing her computer set up. All the hours of programming she had been putting into it lately, it made her feel like she was doing something. Even if it wasn't productive, it had her doing more than moping around.

Would Batman mope if he found himself paralyzed from the waist down? For some reason, she couldn't picture it. The masked man who had done so much, who always had this expression of determination that not even a mask could hide, who had so much willpower that even a major setback wouldn't keep him down.

A person like that would find some other way to keep fighting the good fight, no matter what.

So, couldn't she do the same thing? Maybe?

For once in a long, _long_ time, Barbara Gordon began to contemplate about possibilities.

"Yo, earth to Barbara. You still with us?" Dick's hand that was waving a few inches in front of her face broke her out of those thoughts.

"Yes, I'm here," she said exasperatedly.

"Thought we lost you for a sec," Tim said. "You've been sitting there for a while, just staring. We kinda ran out of things to say."

"It's fine," the paralyzed woman said as she turned to face the youngest person here. "I was just…thinking."

"Good stuff, right?" Dick asked, sounding hopeful.

"Perhaps," she said evasively, being vague on purpose. This was primarily to tease them a bit, make them get worked up for nothing. She wondered how long it would take for them to figure it out.

"I'm all for good stuff," Tim said readily before he looked down at his watch. "Aw shit."

"What?" Dick asked, suddenly alert.

"I wish I could stay, but I gotta go," the teen told them. "My parents are going to City Hall today and I'm suppose to meet them there. We're gonna see Harvey Dent about what he's going to do about my aunt's killer."

"Why's that? Are they worried he might get off?" There was a lot of concern there. Probably for good reason.

"It's kinda weird, because someone from that lawyer's office invited us to come down to talk with him," Tim shrugged. "Don't know why but I want to make sure that that Zsasz guy is going to get what's coming to him. It's more for my parents than anything and since they're going, I'll be there with them for emotional support. You know?"

"You need help getting there?"

"Nah, you can stay here. I'll be fine," Tim replied. Then, wiggling his eyebrows, he added, "Give you guys some alone time, if you know what I mean."

Oh my God, really? Really? "Since when did your mind go into the gutter?" she exclaimed.

"Whoever said it was never there?" Tim quipped as he winked at the two of them. Dick swore as the teen cackled, speeding away before the older male could give chase. Which he did.

Men. So immature.

But maybe not immature enough that they didn't come up with some okay ideas. Barbara found her eyes drifting over to her computer again, recalling what had been mentioned earlier.

Now what could she do with this set up?


	23. The Plea of Last Resort

The Plea of Last Resort

There was something about the brunette walking past them. Tim couldn't put his finger on it, but he believed he had seen or met her from somewhere else. Oh well, he'd not need his dad giving him a knowing look because that was embarrassing.

The teen had managed to get to City Hall in time, managed to meet up with his folks without raising any kind of fuss, and still had to wait like twenty minutes before someone came to bring them in. It made Tim wonder why he was in such a rush to leave Barbara's earlier.

Anyway, he had no idea how busy it was in this place. There were people moving about, talking into phones, and it was loud. Louder than he would have thought some law office to be. Then again, he only had TV to have this kind of idea.

Next thing he knew, he and his folks were led into a large office, and welcomed to various chairs and a couch to sit on. Harvey would be with them in a minute so we ask for a little more of patience. Sheesh, how busy was this guy? Taking a look at all the files and books that were stacked on one another, busier than he had thought.

Looking over his parents, Tim found his father was putting up that strong front of his, doing his best to support Mom. Mom still had red eyes but she hadn't been crying as much as she used to. She had done her best to pretty herself up, and he had to say she did a good job of it. Of course, he was a guy, all that cosmetic stuff was not his territory.

So far, neither Mom nor Dad had shown any signs of being fed up with waiting. How could they be so patient? Hadn't it been Harvey Dent who contacted them first? At least have the decency to be on time or something. Quick check of the watch to make sure he wasn't making an ass of himself and…he was making an ass of himself over five minutes. But hadn't they waited twenty? Must have gotten here earlier than he had thought. Damn.

"Sorry for you keeping you guys," a confident voice spoke from behind the adolescent boy, interrupting his inner thoughts. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long. Lord knows, we all have better things to do, eh?"

Looking up, there stood the district attorney himself, wearing two pieces of a three-piece suit, and several files held under an arm. The dark-haired man had a friendly smile, which kinda relaxed the impatient teen and made him want to forgive any tardiness. Which didn't sound right to him since he had teachers who would harp on him before being five seconds later, and here Dent was over five minutes.

Must have really helped him when he was in school.

Dent walked around the seated family and placed his files on his cluttered desk. Instead of taking a seat himself, he propped himself against the piece of workplace furniture, his hands placed down on the flat surface behind him.

"You probably know who I am, but just in case, I'm Harvey Dent. You must be…Jack Drake." Dark eyes were focused on the Drake family patriarch, silently conveying his last sentence as a question instead.

"Yes, sir," Tim's dad confirmed, nodding his head. Taking over introductions, he placed his arm around his mother's shoulders and said, "This is my wife, Janet. Kathleen was her sister."

"My condolences," Harvey Dent said automatically. His face was a mask of sympathy that came off pretty authentic. Then those dark eyes were on him. "And this would be…?"

"My son Timothy. Tim for short," Dad answered.

Damn it, Dad. Why'd you gotta use his full name first. You knew he preferred Tim.

Harvey Dent nodded his head. "Good. I want to thank you for coming in today, and on such short notice. What I'd like to do now is tell you a bit about the case without going into too much detail. I want to let you know that I am pulling all the stops to make sure Victor Zsasz never hurts another person again. It's going to be easier than you think; we have very strong evidence against him, the kind that put him at the scene of the crime. There's a task force that's been working around the clock getting more and bringing it to me. We know for a fact that this is the guy, without question."

"Can you tell us what you have on him?" Dad asked, tightening the arm he had on Mom's shoulders.

"Because the investigation is still on-going, I can't do that," Harvey Dent told them apologetically. "We can't risk any information relevant to the case getting out, otherwise we'd get bozos coming out the woodwork claiming Kathleen's death was their doing. Then we'd have to waste time and manpower looking into that stuff. It's easier on everybody that the only other people who know about this outside of my office and the police department are Zsasz's attorneys."

"Are you expecting a fight?"

"Something I can tell you is that Zsasz's finances aren't in their best shape. That means he has to use a public defender," the district attorney explained. "If you know anything about the public defender's office, they're overworked with way too many cases. The best they'll try to do is plea it down and the only thing I'm willing to go down to is life in prison without the possibility of parole. And that it has to be Blackgate. This guy does _not_ get a cushy bed in Arkham."

"Do you want us to testify?" Mom asked unexpectedly. Though she may have been trying to hold herself together, she sounded better than she had in days. Kinda surprising to Tim, to be honest.

"If it wouldn't be too much trouble," Dent told her. "As unlikely as it is, if this goes to trial, I want to paint a picture for the jury of who Kathleen was. She was a person, more than that, she was a sister. An aunt. Someone who came to Gotham to spend time with family and have fun doing it." He paused as a sob escaped from Mom and waited until she was able to compose herself, gesturing for the lawyer to continue. "We can't let anyone take control of that. You'd be a character witness for Kathleen, an advocate to tell the world that she was a person and she did not deserve what happened."

"How long is this going to take," Dad asked, bringing Mom closer to him.

"Unless he goes for a plea, the average time is for a case is two years." Tim's eyes widened as he heard that. What the hell, man?

"What do you mean two years?" he demanded.

"Tim!" Dad reprimanded.

"Are you saying we're going to have to wait two whole years before we find out what's going to happen to that bastard?!" Tim continued, ignoring his dad. Two years, what the fuck?!

"It's alright," Dent said to his dad. Then to him, "That's the downside to our justice system. It's overloaded with so many cases, especially in the last few years. It's first come, first served, and there are a lot of people who need to be tried before we get to Zsasz. There's also Zsasz lawyers, who, if they're worth their stuff, are going to try and delay the trial for as long as they can. Since they're public defenders, I don't think we'll get to trial, they'll plea it out and end this. There are two important things to keep in mind. One is that we have him behind bars. The other is that we keep him there.

"That's why in the next few days, I'm going to be in court for some bond hearings and Zsasz will be there. I'm going to argue for bail being denied, for obvious reasons. If you pay attention to the news, you know what those reasons are."

"We understand," Dad said immediately, cutting in before the youngest Drake could speak his mind further. Which was bullshit because there was a lot Tim still wanted to say, because two years? Really?! "Is there anything you need from us? Something we can do to help?"

"Right now, I need for you to stay strong and to be ready when I call on you," Dent answered readily. "This is not going to be an easy process, sorry to say. It's going to be long, you'll be losing hair not because it's falling out naturally but because you're pulling it out. It's the ending we need to aim for. Because whether it's a plea or a verdict, I won't settle for anything less than guilty. And I hope you're the same."

"We are." Now it was Mom's turn to speak for the family. "Whatever it takes, Kathleen deserves justice."

"And I will give it to her," Dent assured her. "One way or another, justice will be served."

* * *

The meeting with the Drakes ended well. At least, Harvey thought it did. The victim's family had been understanding to an extent, and their drive was strong. He had a good feeling from them. Don't ask him why, it was a gut feeling.

The Drakes were one of the first families to agree to meeting with him. Based on this, Harvey was going to have to tailor these meetings a bit more, drop the bombshells slowly and with some breathing room between each one. He had no doubt there would be those who would be angry with him, like the Drake kid was, but he was sure given enough time, he could persuade them to his side.

Hopefully this would help, however small, with getting him reelected.

That Zsasz, he was a piece of work. And the body count behind the man's self-inflicted scars. It made him want to hurt someone, preferably that murdering son of a bitch. Enough Harvey, you have other things you needed to do. Focus on them and get through this.

Those families weren't going to be the only ones who needed support through this ordeal.

With a sigh, Harvey attempted to get back to work, but stopped just as he was reaching for a file. Sensations in his lower body were demanding his attention, and he found himself bowing to their whims. Not that he was objecting. When nature calls, it hollers.

A trip to the restrooms ought to give him enough of a break for him to get his mind straight. The attorney needed to be focused here, not thinking about how other members with families affected by Zsasz's killing spree would respond to him. What energy he had that wasn't occupied by planning Rupert Thorne's downfall and his reelection campaign had to be devoted to incarcerating Victor Zsasz for the rest of his natural life.

At least, that was the plan if he decided not to pursue the death penalty.

"Hey Kate. I'll be back in a few," he called out as he left his office.

His assistant attorney looked up from what she was doing. "Where are you going so soon?"

"Not far. Just down the hall," he replied as he made his way through the Pit and out of the DA offices. Arms swinging by his sides, he strolled down the hallway, taking his time. Ten minutes were all he was going to need to relieve his bladder.

Then he caught sight of the Drake boy, leaning against the wall, trying to give off that typical moody teen vibe. At least, that's what Harvey assumed he was doing. Was it common for teens to be moody? Well, maybe there was a reason for this apparent moodiness. If the boy's anger from earlier meant anything, he was still unhappy about how their meeting went.

Well, Harvey supposed he could spare a few more minutes. The restroom could wait a little longer.

"Yo," he greeted, pausing for a moment as he tried to recall the Drake boy's name, "Tim, right?"

The Drake boy looked up at him and frowned. Okay, that was definitely a look of confusion and not one of disgust. "Mr. Dent?"

"How you holding up?" the district attorney pressed as he stood before the younger male. "I know you didn't take the news back there well. Since you're still here, I thought I'd stop by. Where's your parents?"

"I'm giving them alone time," Tim replied. Harvey continued to think of him as Tim as he had yet to be corrected at this point. "Are you serious that this is going to take two years? Isn't there some way to speed this up? My parents need to move on past this."

"Tim. May I call you Tim?" Harvey waited until he got the affirmative. "What I gave you back there was the optimistic version of events. What we're dealing with here isn't your run of the mill murderer. Zsasz is a serial killer. And my office wants to charge him with as many of those deaths as we can. We have ten confirmed right now, and the police are looking over other unsolved cases to see if he had any involvement elsewhere. Realistically, this could take three, four, or even five years to do."

Tim's eyes widened, making him look younger than he already did. "F-five years?" his voice cracked. Harvey doubted it came from puberty.

"Don't think for a moment we're sitting on our butts. For every day until we go to trial, we are going to be working on this case. _I_ am going to be working on this case." There, some reassurance there. "We're going to be finding out new things, we're going to be strengthening our case until it is more than rock solid. I get only one chance and if I can't nail him for these murders, I'll never get another chance unless we find someone else he's killed.

"This is just how our justice system is set up. The accused, including Zsasz, have rights that need to be respected. I don't like it, but I have no choice but to go along with it until I can prove he is no longer deserving of those rights."

"That's bull," Tim spat. "What about us? What about my family? We're to wait years until we can get over this? It's not fair!"

Harvey eyed Tim, measuring him almost. "You're angry. That's alright. It's okay to be angry about this."

"Why?" Tim growled.

"Because it's not right. It's not right that families have to be dragged in the muck until they can finally get justice for their loved ones," Harvey stated. "So, it's good to be angry. But you got to be careful. That anger can hurt not only you, but the ones you love. Like your parents. So what you need to do is channel it. Channel it in a way that it can help people."

Tim said nothing, his face almost like stone. Youth showed out as this stone-faced teen was trying to suppress his intense emotional state within, if the small little tremors in his body were anything to go by. If you weren't looking for them, you'd miss them. Good thing Harvey always had a sharp eye when it came to these things.

"So find your answer. Figure out how you can change things so that people like you and your family don't have to suffer through this," he told the teen gently. "It won't be easy. Even after you do figure it out. Because then you have to put it into practice, and that's harder to do that finding out what you can do, what you can change."

"So the easy part is finding the answers, huh?" Tim raised an eyebrow at him, a little rebellion leaking out. Well, that was fine. A healthy dose of skepticism never hurt anybody.

"Afraid so. There will always be obstacles in your way, but you got to power through them. The only other way is to destroy yourself, and if that happens, Zsasz wins." Yes, give a face to an enemy, someone that this teen could put his energies into fighting against. "It's people like him who will get in your way. That's what's happening now. Good thing the ball's in your court; you get to choose what happens next."

He patted Tim's shoulder, a sign of camaraderie. The most important thing in all this was that Tim didn't feel alone. He needed to know that he had someone in his corner. Harvey was willing to be that person, if no one else stepped up to the plate.

"Think about it. Find your answer. Then change the world. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go take a piss. See you around, Tim." With those parting words, he let the teen stare at his back as he continued his stroll.

Maybe he said too much information back there, but Harvey rarely found that a shock tactic was out of taste. Beside, Tim could handle it. Saying such things brought him down to a level that made him more real and not this figure of his imagination given physical form.

Maybe he ought to start incorporating this kind of thing into the meetings with the other families. Minus the remarks of urination. He still needed to maintain some semblance of professionalism after all.

* * *

With the evening sun setting over the Gotham skyline, Francine had dragged her husband back to their humble abode, away from the terrors of the lab that symbolize the latest disaster in their quest for healing hearing loss.

Even now, Kirk had remained silent for much of the drive, something the two of them hadn't done together in a long time. He was in a zombie state of mind, doing very little and when he did only at the behest of someone else, namely her. She felt for the devastated scientist, she really did.

But they had issues as spouses that needed to be resolved. The mutations of the lab rats was evidence that the two of them needed to put up a united front. To do that, they needed to be able to communicate with one another. To know where one another stood. The first order of business then was to get a single word out of her husband and proceed from there.

Francine had managed to place him at the dining table, sitting on one of the wooden chairs that really weren't that comfortable to sit on. They only had them because it was cheaper to buy them with the table than separately. With his head tilted downward, eyes still staring directly ahead of them, Kirk continued his comatose state while Francine made sure to lock up.

She was not going to allow Kirk the chance to leave without some kind of obstacle.

Taking a seat in the chair nearest to him, Francine reached out and placed her hand on top of Kirk's, squeezing it affectionately to nonverbally tell him she was there for him. "Kirk? How're you doing? Please talk to me."

No answer. Like pretty much how he had gone through the day so far. The rest of the team had let him get away with it because they knew how important this project was for him. They gave him space out of respect and understanding. Neither of those two things could be afforded right now.

"Kirk, I really need you to talk to me," she pressed on, tightening her hand around Kirk's. "Don't pull away from me. Not when we need each other the most."

She observed the devastated man, picking up small details like the clenching of his jaw. Ah, some kind of reaction. Good. He was hearing her. Now to continue pressing.

"I know that this is important to you. That it means more to you than to anybody else in the world. Even me," she continued. "Please don't pull away from me. You've been distancing yourself from me these past few days. But you can't do that. Not now. Not when we need each other the most. So please, say something?"

Her eye flickered up to Kirk's ear, noting the absence of a hearing aid. Back then to his face, waiting for anything, like the establishment of eye contact or the—what was that?

"Can you say that again?" she asked, leaning closer. She could have sworn she saw his mouth moving.

"...sorry…"

It was barely louder than a breath of air but she had been able to hear that much come out of him.

"I'm here for you Kirk. Say that again, louder," she told him, moving all that much closer.

"I'm sorry." Kirk's hand twisted around under hands, their palms meeting as Kirk grasped her hand. "I'm sorry I've let this happen."

More confirmation. Again, he should not have heard her without his hearing aid. But she would get back to that later. She needed to keep him talking.

"There was no way you could have predicted this. At least this wasn't the human trials," she tried to assure him. "There's still time. We still have a lot of work to go off of. This is just a setback, one we can recover from. If we can neutralize this side effect, then we would have found the cure we're looking for. It's going to be fine, Kirk. Just fine."

Kirk shook his head, thought what the reason for that was, she didn't know. "I should have said something earlier. But I didn't. I _should_ have said something."

Hadn't they gone through this already? "But Kirk, you didn't know—" She stopped herself suddenly as Kirk's words finally processed themselves. What did he mean he should have told someone? It wasn't as if he had known. Except that lately he had been keeping a lot of information to himself. Like Abraham's offer to go to Patriarch. Or where Kirk had been going to late at night that kept him from going home.

"You knew, didn't you?" she stated, the words coming out of her slowly as comprehension dawned on her. "When? When did you find out?"

"Francine. I…"

"When did you know Kirk? Tell me!"

Bowing his head lower, Kirk admitted, "The night we gave them the injections. I stayed late…and before I left, I checked on them. They were like they were today. Mutated. Transformed."

"And you told no one about this?" she demanded incredulously.

"I had hoped it was temporary," the broken man bemoaned. "That it only happened once and then it was gone. But it isn't gone, it's still there. And I don't know why."

Francine pulled her hand away from Kirk's, sitting up straighter in her seat. "Why would you keep that to yourself, Kirk? I, the team, needed to know about this. We could have put people in danger if the rats hadn't changed today! What were you thinking?"

"I didn't want my father finding out. And after we found out about Arthur, I figured I had made the right decision. Could you imagine what he would do if he found out the serum did this? That it mutated those who took it?" Finally, the explanation was coming out. Kirk was speaking more right now than he had all day, and it needed to be capitalized on.

"You couldn't have told me? Don't you trust me?" This was something that needed to be addressed right now. Because if he didn't trust her, then she couldn't trust him.

"I didn't want you to worry. You were so excited and I didn't want to take that from you," Kirk answered miserably. "Everybody was so happy."

"It does not excuse you holding out on us. Even if it burst our bubbles, we all needed to know about this," Francine continued to press. "This is the second thing you have kept from me that you have admitted to. What else haven't you been telling me?"

When Kirk didn't immediately respond, she, sad to say, began letting her own frustrations get the better of her. "You haven't been coming home anymore. You're out all night and barely come home anymore. Don't tell me that's your father's doing; we both know enough about how he operates to know he's not picking you up late at night to pressure you. And you're not going to your shrink's every night either. I doubt he has that much time to see you every night."

"It's not…it's that easy to say." It sounded like the words were being pulled out of him, and unwillingly at that.

"Why not?" Now she was raising her voice at him. It was something she hadn't wanted to do, but she couldn't hold it in anymore. "Why can't you just tell me? Anything!" Pushing her chair back, she stood up and took several steps away until she was in the living room. The living room that was only three feet away from their breakfast/dining table. So she hadn't gone that far.

"Francine…"

The angered woman looked over her shoulder at her husband, saw how miserable he looked. From his hunched posture, the way he was hiding his hands, and not making eye contact, it was like he was trying to hide from her. And she couldn't hold it in anymore.

"No, Kirk. Don't give me the beaten dog routine. You're keeping secrets from me, don't try to deny it. I mean, you're not wearing your hearing aid and yet you're hearing me just fine! Have you been lying about your hearing loss all this time too?!"

As soon as she had mentioned it, Kirk's hand flew up to his ear and felt the truth. He was frozen now, well, only for a moment before he turned away from her. Turned. Away from her. Trying to hide even more. He said her name again but she wasn't having it anymore.

"This is not working Kirk. I can't be there for you if you won't tell me what is happening. First your father, then the rats! If I can't trust you to tell me things, then we're going to fail! Not just as co-workers, but as a married couple! Look me in the eye, tell me what you're hiding from me! Don't look away, look at me Kirk! Goddamn it, _look at me_ Kirk!"

Kirk's body was trembling; it was obvious even from where Francine was standing, facing the secret-keeping researcher. The trembling became worse as Francine raised her voice, becoming louder and louder. As soon as she had stopped, Kirk finally broke.

"I took the mutagen, Francine."

That pulled her up short, causing her to blink owlishly. "The what?"

"The mutagen, Francine. The serum. It's not a cure, but a mutagen, and I took it." Kirk looked like he was heaving at this point.

"You…took it…?" Why was she having trouble wrapping her mind around this? Kirk had just said it! But still, he had always been responsible. He had never gone out of line like this before, breaking countless guidelines of protocol to inject into himself a substance that had been proven that they knew little about.

Then, Kirk turned, slowly, to face her. Francine's eyes widened at the elongation she saw in her husband's face, as well as the increase in hair around his head. The fingers of his hands were longer, at least they appeared to be, with hair sprouting out of the back of hands. And his ears! They were more pointed now. How had she missed his ears? Even when they were right in front of her.

"I'm sorry Francine."

His voice, oh god. What kind of voice?

Kirk screamed as he hunched over, his body convulsing. Francine cried out his name, intended to go to his side, only to stop as his clothing began to rip. Kirk knocked over his chair as he stood up, knees bent, his body mass continuing to increase along with more and more hair covering him.

Kirk's head snapped up and a "SSSSSKKKKKKRRRRRIIIIIIIEEEEEEE!" tore through the apartment. Arms stretched out, finishing off Kirk's upper body clothing and revealing a leathery wingspan that filled their dining room. Francine stumbled back, falling down onto the floor but never taking her eyes off the monster than now stood where her beloved husband had.

Beady red eyes focused down on her, a low growl rumbling through a deep and broad chest. Sharp fangs peeked out from thin lips, hinting at a ferocious bite if this monster chose to do so.

"Kirk…" His name slipped through her lips as she laid on the carpeted floor, her body seized with terror.

The monster's pointed ears drooped, broad shoulders slumping as the creature pulled away. A low whimper escaped from it, which seemed ridiculous. This thing looked powerful enough to rend her limb from limb, yet it was…cowering?

As if ashamed, the monster spun around and took off with a leap, crashing through the windows of their apartment and over the balcony where it took flight. Flapping its mighty wings, the monster soared out into the arriving night, releasing a mournful cry as it soon disappeared from sight.

From her place on the floor, Francine watched after it, tears leaking from her eyes.

"Oh, Kirk…"

* * *

As much as Vicki hated to admit it, Harry was right.

She had been so focused on Bruce Wayne, she had let the rest of her productivity flounder, which was a death sentence in the dog-eat-dog world of journalism. Despite the intrigue surrounding this mysterious giant bat, the redhead had wanted to wash her hands of it as soon as possible. She had even gone to the archive to dig up her recent articles to prove to Harry that she was pulling her own weight.

Instead of finding a Pulitzer-nominated article, however, Vicki discovered she had barely been putting anything out at all. There was something about a dog show a week ago, a robbery gone bad three weeks ago, and not much worthy of the star reporter of the Gotham Star.

Which meant she needed this life preserver Harry had tossed her.

Unfortunately, this story was proving harder than anticipated. Her police contacts had been nothing short of useless; the eyewitness reporters were sketchy at best; hell, there had been more substance on the Youtube videos than anything else.

Here's what she knew: this giant bat had been spotted at the construction site the GCPD had blown up. Police cams were evidence of that, at least the one that had the best shot of it. Oddly enough that video had cut off out of nowhere, coupled with the sound of crushing metal. That was the only piece of information she had managed to get out of her cop buddies.

The latest incident involving this bat had been some evening shenanigans yesterday, in which some food vendor's cart had been attacked. Luckily a police officer had been nearby and scared the creature away.

That still put Vicki right at square one, possibly two. With this story fizzling, and her P.I. being irritatingly absent, the reporter felt she was in a very crappy place.

Thus the bar.

Everyone needed a chance to wind down, to cool off. Right now, Vicki was in the mood to forego her preferred wine binge and wanted something stronger. Sitting on one of the bar stools, the redhead sipped at a rum and coke. It was…alright, all things considered. She wasn't a whisky gal, nor tequila. Vodka was passable, but she wasn't in the mood for it—thus the rum. With the burn of the rum mingling with the sweetness of the coke, she was fine for the time being.

It was Happy Hour at the moment, so the usual cast of alcoholics filled the place. Many were at the tables, drinking and laughing with their drinking buddies. A couple were shooting pool off in the corner. The bar was maybe a third full and that was being generous. Again, they were mostly alkies, Vicki aside.

However, one of them stood out, which got the reporter's attention. If she wasn't mistaken, she knew this fellow. Wu Lang had been an old college buddy of hers. Whereas she went into journalism, he had been a chemistry nut. Wu had been instrumental in some of her college pieces working for the school paper, especially when the Science Department was on the verge of a big breakthrough. Some of those articles had helped gotten her her job.

She really needed to go say hi to him.

Standing up, Vicki slid her purse strap over her shoulder, picking up her drink before she sauntered over to her friend. The closer she got to him, the more she noticed just how stressed out Wu looked. He leaning heavily on the bar in front of him, one arm lying on top of it while his other standing up, his hand pressed right into his forehead. Something was bothering Wu, that much she was sure about.

"Hey, Wu," Vicki greeted him the moment she stood behind him. The scientist slowly turned on his stool to look at her. For a brief moment, Wu looked as if he didn't recognize her; in fact, he had that thousand yard stare on his face, one that spoke volumes. It was as if he had seen some seriously disturbed shit.

A second later and recognition flooded his face. "Oh, hey Vicki," Wu greeted her. "Long time, no see."

"A very long time," the redhead agreed. "Do you mind if I sit with you?"

"By all means."

As Vicki took a seat on the stool next to her friend, Wu had returned to his previous pose. For once, the redhead felt concern. She had never seen the man this distraught before. "Is something wrong?" she asked him, worry lacing her voice.

Wu was silent for a moment before he let out an aggrieved sigh. "It's just been a bad day," he replied. He then picked up his glass and down the rest of his drink in one go.

"Want to talk about it?" Vicki prodded. "I'm good at listening."

For awhile, he just sat here, acting as if he hadn't heard her, which annoyed Vicki slightly. Here she was trying to be nice and the guy blows her off? How rude. But then he said, "I've been working for Wayne Enterprises for nearly eleven years and never have I seen the fucked up stuff I've seen today."

"What was it?"

Instead of answering, Wu picked up his glass and held it high into the air. "Refill please?" he requested. The bartender responded immediately, bringing a bottle of Jack Daniels and filling Wu's glass. "Thank you," the Asian man thanked before he took a sip of his drink.

Deciding not to be offended at being ignored—again—Vicki inquired once more, "What did you see today."

Now, normally Wu was pretty vague on what he did at his workplace. Confidentiality was big for him, even back in school. He just had the knack for pointing Vicki in the right direction to get the big scoop she needed.

This time, Wu wasn't nearly as subtle. "I've been working on this project—big hush, hush stuff. Not too long ago we thought we had a breakthrough. This morning we found out there were some serious side-effect to our formula."

Wu stopped to down his entire drink again, this time a lot more than the first. Wincing visibly, he again held the glass up and called out, "Another!"

Vicki didn't bother to keep prodding her friend. She just waited for his glass to be filled yet again before he continued, "The lab rats mutated into these...these...monsters! These hideous, awful monsters. Mutated rat monsters."

The reporter in Vicki immediately smelt something newsworthy. It wasn't every day you heard of science-gone-wrong incidents and it seemed she had lucked her way into one. Considering just how hammered Wu was, she had no doubt she could bleed him for more information. Subtly, she reached into her purse and found her tape recorder, turning it on with a push of a button.

"So these rat monsters," she spoke carefully, "how did they look?"

"Like…like giant rats with wings."

Vicki's brow furrowed. "Like a bat?"

Wu paused. Then, "Yeah, they did look like bats. Vicious, snarling, blood-sucking bats."

 _Giant bat huh?_ Was it possible the very bat she was currently hunting was somehow linked to Wu's morning? Vicki was willing to bet so. "And you said this was where again?"

"Wayne Enterprises."

Oh…this could not have gotten any better. If Bruce Wayne had his John Hancock all over this research, the black eye it would give him could be seen from space. Doing her best to bury her giddiness, the redhead pressed, "What can you tell me about this project?"

* * *

Things weren't going Gordon's way. He had underestimated Cort and his tenacity; already on his desk were the filled out forms requesting for reinstatement. The thing is, the commissioner was having trouble finding any reason to deny if not stall on it. Cort had crossed his t's and dotted his i's on this. Everything required was done.

Which made this hard for him. Cort had received punishment, he had gotten evaluated and found competent enough to return to his job. The longer Gordon went on with this, the union would only rack up pressure to make up his mind. The mustached man had had his fill of unions already, thank you very much.

After everything he had done, it looked like Cort may only get a two day suspension from that shit. Three if Gordon waited until tomorrow, but knowing the zealous sergeant, he'd be ready to return to duty that second.

There was a part of him that could relate to that insufferable man. Wanting to do the right thing, upholding the law, and all around doing the job they were hired to do. They had that in common. But Cort's black and white view of the world was not a good fit, especially in Gotham where nothing is black and white.

Yet, he was forceful enough to bring other cops to his side of things, drawing lines in the department, and slowly tearing it apart. In the end, it would do more harm instead of good, something Cort probably didn't intend.

This was a problem that didn't have any good end to it.

A knock on his office door provided him a good distraction from this situation. The distraction became better when it was Sarah peeking in at him.

"To what do I owe for this?" he asked, smiling goofily at her.

"Sorry, Commissioner, it's business," the lieutenant replied, putting Gordon into business mode. This was not his day, was it?

"Okay, what's up?" Whatever it was may still serve to distract him from the Cort situation, something he gladly welcomed right about now.

Sarah entered the office, closing the door behind her before explaining the situation. "There's a woman out in the lobby who wants to talk with you. She's been refusing everyone else for the last hour and insists that you're the only one she'll speak with."

Gordon pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes as he could practically feel the incoming headache. "Let me guess, she's the wife of a millionaire or a politician."

"Actually, she doesn't look like she's rich," Sarah shrugged her shoulders. "As for the politician bit, not sure, she wouldn't say anything about a spouse. Only, you guessed it, that she would speak with you. I will say, she looks like she's been through something. But again, she won't tell us anything."

"Did you get a name out of her?" the commissioner asked, lowering his hand. Knowing that much might give him an idea of what this could be all about, because he was grasping at straws at this point.

"Francine Langstrom ring any bells?"

Who was Francine Langstrom? He had never heard of anyone by that name before. "Never heard of her."

"So she isn't an old classmate that wants to catch up in person instead of through the internet?" Sarah inquired. "I was beginning to think that for a moment."

"So someone I don't know refuses to talk to anybody except for me. She won't give any reason why she wants it that way and she's not making it easier for anybody. Have I missed anything?" Gordon summed up.

"That seems to be the gist of it," Sarah agreed, nodding her head. "Should I tell her to schedule an appointment? Or to speak with an officer?"

Gordon gave it some thought before he decided to risk it. "You know what, bring her up. If anything, it could be worth a laugh later."

"Are you sure about this?"

"Not really, but I could use some time to do something else. The stuff with Cort is starting to get to me," he told her frankly. "That and doing the day to day running of the department. Maybe you'll get lucky and I'll have you throw her out of the building. If you're unwilling, maybe Bullock will do it."

"I don't like the phrasing of that but if you're sure, I'll go get her," Sarah said before leaving.

Moments later, Sarah returned with Francine Langstrom. She was a blonde-haired woman with her head bowed slightly, blonde locks of hair shadowing her face. The brown coat she wore was wrapped tightly around her, like she was trying to keep as much warmth in her body as she could. That odd detail led the commissioner back to the woman's eyes which he now noticed were red rimmed. Looked like she had been crying recently.

He began speaking as soon as she took a seat. "I hear you want to talk with me. What is this about?"

"I…can we speak in private?" the blonde-haired woman asked as she eyed Sarah closely. Sarah had yet to leave the office, having remained close to this Francine, whoever she was. Looking up at his wife, he nodded to signal for her to leave.

Sarah nodded back and took her leave, closing the door softly behind her. "Alright, we're alone. So what's going on?"

"Commissioner, I need you to help me," Francine said, looking up at him from behind her glasses.

Gordon raised an eyebrow as he sat back in his seat. "Help with what, exactly?"

Really, this had better be good.

"I need you to contact Batman. I need to speak with him," Francine answered, her voice becoming slightly stronger the longer she spoke. Gordon, though, was caught off guard by the request.

"Contact…? I'm sorry, but you've come to the wrong place, Mrs. Langstrom. The official policy of the department is to—"

"You're friends with him, aren't you?" Francine interrupted him, her face becoming more and more panicked by the second. "I've seen the pictures, you know him. So please, you must have some way to reach him, right? This is a matter of life and death!"

Wow, she was getting hysterical. And did she have to bring up those damn pictures again? He had thought they were past this by now.

"Mrs. Langstrom, what you're asking of me, even if I could, why would I?" he questioned. "What is a matter life and death? What is so important that you want to speak with a vigilante, whom I might add is wanted by law enforcement? What is this all about?"

The woman sniffled, actually sniffed, but she seemed to keep her composure. From within her coat, she pulled out what looked like pieces of paper, paper that had pictures on them. Handing them out to him, Gordon took them and got a closer look. These were of that giant bat creature that had been firing up the media recently. Great, this woman was trying to somehow connect herself to this story out of the mists of urban legend.

An urban legend that happened to have a grain of truth to it. More than a grain, actually. Because a witness to it was none other than Bullock, and this was something he wouldn't exaggerate on. So how was this woman connected to all this?

As if reading his facial expression, Francine dropped her bombshell. "That bat, Commissioner, is my husband, Kirk."

"Your husband," he repeated.

"We're researchers," she explained. "For the past few years we have been working on a serum that has the power to reverse hearing loss. We've been using bats as a base for our work with an emphasis on their ability of echolocation."

"Aren't bats suppose to be blind?"

"Bats aren't blind; that's a myth. Their echolocation is used to find prey out in the wild. Our work, unfortunately, has led us to creating a mutagen instead of a cure for deafness and now, Kirk is somewhere in the city. Who knows when and if he'll begin to target other people."

"Why haven't you told any of the officers about this?" he asked. Gordon really needed an answer for that part.

"Because I'm afraid they will shoot and kill him," Francine stated, her voice rising. "No matter what he's become, he's still my husband, Commissioner. That's why I need to find Batman. I know that regardless of what's said about him, he doesn't kill. He's the only one I can trust right now who won't kill him."

Gordon winced at that. She was right about his men shooting first. Bullock himself admitted to doing that during his run-in with the bat creature.

"Please, you're the only one who can help me now," Francine begged, tears beginning to leak out of her eyes and down her cheeks. "You're the only one who can get me in touch with him. Help me save Kirk. He doesn't deserve what's happening to him."

The commissioner sighed, taking his eyes off the distraught woman and directing them to the ceiling. More specifically, to the area of the roof where a certain searchlight resided. He had been needing to speak to the vigilante anyway about what happened at the construction site. But he had been dragging his feet on the matter, expecting to receive a visit that had not happened yet.

But let's say he believed a word of this woman's story. There was no guarantee that the masked vigilante would agree to do anything about it.

Looking back at Francine, and seeing what kind of mess she was becoming, Gordon knew what it was he needed to do.

* * *

The beam of the searchlight streaked up into the sky, a round circle with the symbol of a bat punched into it hovered over the city.

Now, it was a waiting game, one that Gordon was not looking forward to. With Francine Langstrom still in his office, Gordon began mentally preparing himself for what was coming. He wouldn't blame the Batman for ignoring this call, especially after all that had happened so far.

He was not looking forward to this, but it was long overdue and someone had to give in first. If it wasn't him who would be paid a visit first, then it would be him initiating a meeting.

Scratching his nose, the commissioner did a quick scan of the rooftop, finding nothing. That was to be expected. While all the other times the vigilante had shown up, there was no guarantee he would this time. Giving sigh, Gordon swore to himself, wanting nothing more than to slug Cort for starting this up.

Just when they were finally about to set this city on a brand new path, just when they were about to end organized crime's hold, just when they were about to weed out the corruption within, Cort has to go gung-ho and set them a step back. And now Gordon was running out of ways to control the mess that the overzealous cop was going to dump into his lap.

Then again, this was how Gotham was. When you thought you were getting somewhere, the city would throw you a curveball. Sometimes you would be able to adapt and not let it phase you. Other times, it was a disaster. Gordon figured, though, that it didn't matter if you messed up so long as you were able to get back on your feet and take care of business the next go around.

As a breeze passed him, the commissioner looked back towards the roof entrance, giving a thought towards the woman that had him up here in the first place. He could only hope that whatever story she had, it would be worth it. It had to be worth it, or he was getting himself into real trouble. Moving his gaze away and towards the city, he stopped turning his head as he picked out a dark figure standing just behind the activated searchlight.

"How long have you been there? Never mind, don't tell me." Gordon corrected himself as soon as he started talking, keeping his eyes focused on the Dark Knight and refusing to look away. Right now, he was in no position to be demanding any answers from this man. "Let's get this over with. Both of us knew this was some time in coming."

Instead of some stoic silence, like he had been expecting, Batman apparently was as eager as him to get it over with. "Two nights ago. What happened. Why was I chased by your officers."

None of those were questions, only demands that required answers. "I suppose it is too late to offer an apology for this. I had thought I had it under control, but I was wrong. Dead wrong."

"Wrong about what?"

Okay, that had been asked as a question. It was still in a no-nonsense tone, so Gordon knew he needed to get to the heart of the matter. "Lately there has been a growing faction in the department. This group doesn't like you and wants you off the streets. Nothing new, I know. Only, we both saw what they were capable recently. They're willing to do anything to take you out."

Silence was his answer. He had been expecting that sooner or later. Still, there was a quiet demand that he continue, because the answer he had been giving so far was nowhere near adequate.

"I had hoped to control these officers, give them enough work that they wouldn't be able to think about you, much less anything else," he admitted. "The man who leads them, I put him in charge of the Zsasz task force, stuck Bullock with him to keep an eye on him. But Bullock ended up getting caught up in chasing Zsasz, and Cort went about doing his own thing. I find out he's been doing a lot of talking, and after some digging I learned he wanted to pin the murders on you. That's after he led the charge after you a couple nights ago."

"Cort?"

"Maxwell Cort. Sergeant. And to save you time, he's not dirty. Cleaner than me in some respects. He's a different breed of cop, a fanatic. The law is black and white to him; if you break the law, you're a criminal no matter if you're trying to help or not. Take a guess where you are."

Feeling more and more uneasy with his explanation, Gordon pressed on without waiting for a response, "I'm sorry. I really am. I should have told you that the department is splitting between Cort and those who tolerate you. At this point, there's little I can do about it. I was only able to suspend Cort, but he's done everything he needed to do for reinstatement. I have to put him back on the force or it will make things worse between me and those on his side. At least, had you been aware, you would have been ready for him."

"You're right. You should have told me." Yes, more confirmation about his mistake, but it wasn't like he didn't deserve it.

"I understand if you have any problems trusting me from this point on," Gordon said. "All I can say is that this is the worst time for it to happen. I don't know how I'll be able to make this up to you, but I promise you that I will. I'll find a way."

Leaning forward, while continuing to tower over him, the response was simple. "Get control of your men, Commissioner."

So simple, and yet so complicated at the same time. It was simple in that it gave a clear objective of what he needed to do. It was complicated in that asserting control over the kind of individuals who made up the GCPD would not go over too well. It may very well cause the split that already existed to tear everything apart.

But he had promised he would do what he needed to do. If nothing else, Gordon always tried to keep his word, no matter what obstacles were presented to him.

"I'll see what I can do to isolate and limit what Cort can do. It'll take some time to do it without alienated the others. In the meantime, warn whoever you have to keep out of sight of law enforcement. Try to keep safe until I can get this fixed. I'll try to direct all attention to Thorne; maybe something will come out of that. Maybe even that bat-man thing the news outlets have been blowing up over."

"Get it done."

That was perhaps the best he was going to do for now. For once, it was him who was in the hotseat when it came to trust. Now he was going to have earn the vigilante's trust back instead of the other way around. Still, he was being given a chance.

"There's one more thing. There's a woman downstairs who wants to speak with you. Refused to talk to anybody else, other than me," he brought up, returning to what put him out here in the first place. "I have no idea if what she's told me is the truth, and to be honest, it's pretty out there."

"What is her name?" the masked vigilante asked.

Okay, he needed to think for a second. "Francine. Francine Langstrom. Ring any bells?"

Batman was quiet for a moment; it was hard to tell what this man was thinking of between those narrowed white eyes and grim line of a mouth. "No."

"Well, it's up to you if you want to meet her," he shrugged. However, just as he finished speaking, the door to the roof opened wide, preventing any answer from the costumed man. Gordon's heart began to hammer in his chest, not needing to take a moment to figure out what picture would be made from him standing mere feet away from Gotham's most famous crimefighter. It was going to be bad, like the last time. He was sure of it.

Coming out from behind the door was none other than the woman in question, looking slightly irritated as she looked around before spotting him. What was she doing up here? How had she gotten this far without anybody stopping her?

As her eyes landed on him, they moved to his right and widened. Much to her credit, Francine did not get that deer-in-the-headlight look Gordon would have expected, but instead squared her shoulders and made her way over to the two of them.

"I was wondering what was taking so long. So you managed to reach him," Francine stated, turning to fully face the Batman. "You're him? The Batman."

"What do you want?" the vigilante went straight to the point.

Not looking the least bit put off by the Dark Knight's gruffness, Francine replied, "I need your help and you're the only one who is up to the task."

"Why not the police? Why do you need my help?" Batman questioned further.

"Because the police aren't an option. I'm afraid they'll make things worse. It's a long story," Francine admitted, pushing some stray hair away from her face. "Commissioner? Could you leave us?"

"If you want my help, the Commissioner stays," Batman rebutted.

Huh. Gordon hadn't expected that but he wasn't about to do anything to ignore this olive branch of sorts.

Francine, on the other hand, looked a bit more helpless, her mouth slightly opened as she turned her head from the vigilante to the mustached law officer and back. "I need to speak with you. Not him. I've already spoken with him and he wouldn't be able to help, only make this worse."

"Then solve your own problem," rebuffed the vigilante. "I'm not in the business of being called whenever you need me to fix your messes."

"Please!" Francine begged. "I need your help! My husband needs your help! He will die if he doesn't!" The amount of passion and desperation in this woman's voice was more than enough for Gordon to want to believe her. It sounded so sincere, but he needed to remain objective. Emotions could not affect him until he knew the story. Or at least the parts that she had withheld if there were any.

When there was no further response from Batman, Francine's desperation prompted her to continued, "My husband, Kirk, all he wanted to do was help people. He and I have been working on a serum that was intended to heal hearing impairment, if not cure deafness itself. We've been working on this for years and recently we thought we had a breakthrough. But today, we found some serious side effects to our formula.

"The lab animals we've been using all regained their hearing but they have also begun to change. Mutate. When they do, they become these creatures with bat-like features, increased mass, heightened aggression, among other things. It was a serious blow to our work."

Gordon blinked at this information. Even though this was the second time he was hearing this, he didn't know if this was one of those sci-fi things you'd find in the movies. From the way she was telling this story, it definitely could be put in the science gone wrong category.

His gut was telling him there was more to this.

Batman seemed to agree with that. "What are you leaving out?"

"Kirk…oh Kirk." Gordon found himself shying back a bit because tears were visibly evident, rolling down her cheeks. "Kirk took some of the serum himself. He told me today and soon after he himself mutated."

"Into a giant bat-like creature?" Batman summed up.

It took Gordon a moment to catch on. His earlier comment before Francine had come out here seemed to have come back. "You were serious about that thing that the news can't stop talking about?"

Francine nodded, then spoke in a cracking, soft voice, "Yes." She looked so vulnerable, her head bowed, eyes on the roof and not on either of the men with her.

Abruptly, she snapped her head up, eyes teary but determined as they pinned the vigilante down. "You have to help him! You're the only one who can! Kirk didn't mean any of this to happen! I'm afraid that if this continues, he'll kill someone or someone will kill him. That's why I can't go to the police, because I know they will shoot him if they find him first. They'll kill him.

"You're the only one I know who could do it. To bring him back. To save him. You've saved this city so many times, from all sorts of things. And I know that you won't try to kill him. So please. I have no one else I can go to. Save Kirk. Save him from himself before he does something he'll regret.

" _Please_."

That was a lot to take in. So it really was a science gone wrong scenario. Gordon once again had to agree with her that Francine was right about his men; they would shoot whatever her husband had become on sight.

It wasn't to him who would need to answer this plea. The person to whom it was directed to had yet to say anything. By now, Francine had lowered herself to her knees, tears spilling down the sides of her face without abandon. As her thin body trembled, a single hand had covered her face, blocking whatever expression she might be making from sight. She had lost all composure at this point, a person at their wit's end given form.

The commissioner looked away from her and to the man to whom she was begging to. Batman remained standing tall, his black cape covering his body and giving away nothing to his thoughts. What could he be thinking? Did he believe her? If so, what would he choose to do?

As the minutes ticked by without answer, even the older man began to question if he knew what this masked man would do. Gordon knew what he would do, but that didn't matter. What mattered is if the man whom some considered a hero and others a menace believed the story and what decision he would make about it.

Finally, after a wait that seemed to stretch on too long, an answer was given.

"I'll do what I can."


	24. Batman vs Man-bat

Batman vs Man-bat

There it was, the giant bat, crouched over a broken crate, no doubt its handiwork. Repeatedly it dug into the wooden container, pulling out pieces of fruit and stuffing it into its mouth. Juice dribbled down its chin, dripping onto the ground and crate.

And if what Francine Langstrom said was true, this was her husband.

It was a good thing the docks were closed for the night, seeing as the pier was devoid of human presence. Well, almost. There was the nightly security patrol, but fortunately they were nowhere near this scene. It was for the best really; they could get hurt.

Suddenly, small loud explosions rang out, firecrackers popping right next to the crate Bat-Langstrom perched on. A shrill screech rang out as the bat immediately leaped into the air, flapping its large, leathery wings as it took flight.

So far so good.

Watching it fly, Batman gripped the chain wrapped around his hands. Seeing it drawing close to the building he was crouched on, the dark-clad man observed his prey would be passing right next to the corner of the warehouse. Pushing off with his legs, Batman ran along the edge of the roof, cape billowing behind him as the chain rattled in front.

He reached the corner just as the giant bat did. Leaping into the air, the Dark Knight soared through the air, gravity pushing him down right onto the back of Langstrom. A surprised shriek rang out into the air as both bats dropped through the air from the vigilante's unexpected weight.

Immediately, Batman swung the thick chain over the giant bat's head, pulling back so that it pressed against its neck. Leaning forward, he was quick to wrap another coil around the creature's throat, securing its hold.

Leaning back, Batman pulled the chain tight, which in turn yanked the Man-Bat's head. _"SCCCREEEEEEEIIIIIIIII!"_ it wailed as its back bent backwards. Suddenly their flight pattern went chaotic as the two veered to the right, dropping and rising through the air with each awkward beat of the bat's wings.

Eyeing the side of a warehouse, Batman manipulated the chain, forcing the giant bat to veer towards it. If everything went well, he'd force it right into the wall and knock the damn thing out.

Unfortunately, the Man-Bat wasn't going to be easily taken down. At the last moment it beat its wings down, pushing them up just enough to crash right into the large paned window of the warehouse. The sound of shattering glass filled the vigilante's ears as they entered the building, the two finally losing all form of flight and careened down towards the ground. Though it seemed Langstrom would hit it head first, it managed to lean back just enough to avoid such a blow, its chest taking the brunt of the impact.

The force of the landing, unfortunately, sent Batman flying off the creature, losing his grip on the chain as well. Falling to the floor, the dark-clad man went into a roll, ending up crouched on his feet. Spinning around, he caught sight of the Man-Bat skidding to a stop close by.

Any hope that such a landing would be the end of this skirmish was squashed as the Man-Bat slowly pushed itself up. One of its long-fingered hands moved to its neck and forced the confining chain off, its metal links hitting the floor hard. What was best described as a cough roughly burst out of the monster's mouth.

Batman held his ground. Aggressive actions didn't work well with this thing, not to mention in a contest of strength it held the advantage. No, he just needed to stall for time, keep the Man-Bat's attention completely on him.

" _SSSSSCCCCRRRREEEEEEEEIIIIIIIIIIIIAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"_ the giant bat roared, lunging at him with its mouth gaping wide open.

Batman's first inclination was to dodge the charge. Instead, he chose to close the distance between him and the rushing monster. At the last moment, he ducked low before launching himself upward. With an arm up, his forearm collided with the giant bat's jaw, pushing it up and away from him.

With his other hand, he balled it into a fist and sent it flying, slamming it into Langstrom's throat. Much like their first encounter, the bat backed off, gagging from the blow. Without hesitating, Batman leaped at the creature, shooting out a leg to land a kick to its chest, knocking it back another couple of steps.

This time, the giant bat went on the defensive. Rapidly, it swung its large, winged arms back and forth, warding off the vigilante as he was forced to back off a few steps. A mixture of a grunt and a growl left its fanged mouth as its eyes glared at the Dark Knight.

That was when Huntress came soaring in from somewhere above and behind Langstrom. Bo staff in hand, she swung it down like a baseball bat, hitting the monster on the back of the head.

" _SSSSSSCCCCCRRREEEIIII!"_ it roared before it swung around, once again thrashing its arms.

This time, however, Huntress took the winged arm right against the chest, the force of the blow sending her flying back. Though she flew through the air, gravity brought her right back to the ground, the dark-haired woman managing to stay on her feet despite skidding to a stop on the floor. Her arms were thrown out to her sides to balance herself, her breathing heavy as she recovered.

With its gaping maw, Langstrom turned towards Huntress, making its body as large as it possibly could. It snarled as it took a step towards the purple-clad vigilante.

In an instant, Batman had a shuriken in his hand. With practiced ease, he sent it flying towards the giant bat, watching in satisfaction as its sharp edge sliced through the creature's shoulder. A pain shriek rang out as Langstrom stumbled forward before jerking around to face the Dark Knight.

"You alright, Huntress?" Batman murmured into his comm link, taking a step back as Langstrom began to approach him again.

" _Oh, yeah, nothing broken,"_ was her response. _"Just need to catch my breath."_

Good. Taking on this monster head on was not a strategy for winning. However, with multiple combatants, they didn't have to engage for long, allowing them to implement a hit-and-run strategy. They could ambush the bat, get in a couple good blows, then bolt for safety when it tried to retaliate. It would take awhile assuming this thing had a high endurance level, but it was the best way they could go about taking it down.

And speaking of hit-and-run…

That was when Batgirl darted it. Like a small, black bullet, she closed in on Langstrom rapidly.

Unfortunately, the giant bat spotted the girl out of the corner of its eye. Head jerking slightly, it growled as Batgirl jumped towards it, extending a leg out to attempt a flying kick. Leaping backwards, arms spreadwide out, the monstrous bat avoided the flying kick, leaving Batgirl to bring her leg down as to land on the ground.

She was on the move again, closing in on the bat as she tried for another blow. This time, however, the giant bat held its ground, swing both of its arms inward and slamming them on either side of Batgirl.

A sharp cry of surprise and pain echoed from between the wings, the giant bat's arms parting to allow Batgirl to drop to the floor in a heap. With wide eyes, Batman stared at the sight, his mind frozen.

 _Cassandra!_

In all of his time with the girl, she had never been hit. No thug they ran into on a nightly basis had managed to touch her. Hell, according to Black Canary—and the subsequent footage he had watched at the Cave—she could literally dodge bullets. Yet here she was, taking a full on body blow from this massive and—more importantly—fiercely strong monster.

That was when the giant bat grunted, taking a stumbling step forward. The next thing Batman saw, Huntress' bo staff flipped wildly through the air. The dark-haired woman must have thrown it at Langstrom, though why he had no clue.

He learned quickly after that just what Huntress was up to. Before the giant bat could react, the purple-clad vigilante rammed into its back, wrapping an arm around its neck as she raised her other hand high above her head. Repeatedly, she bashed her fist down on the back of its head.

"Get her out of here!" Huntress yelled as she continued to pummel the back of the monster's skull. Shaken out of his shock, Batman immediately rushed towards the fallen girl, going into a slide across the grim-covered floor once he neared her. Picking her up, Batman was back on his feet, running away as Huntress held Langstrom at bay.

Reaching a far enough distance, Batman slid to a stop, lowering Batgirl to the floor. It was then he felt her stir in his arms, her masked head looking around in confusion.

"Are you okay?" the vigilante asked softly, causing the girl to look to him. "Are you hurt?"

She literally waved a hand, effectively waving off his concern. Still, this was not the end of this. "What happened?" he demanded, some force backing his voice. "How were you not able to dodge?"

For a moment Batgirl was silent. "Can't…" she spoke hesitantly.

 _Can't? Can't what?_

"Can't," she repeated before she raised a hand up, pointing two of her fingers at her eyes, then at the giant bat. "Can't," she said again, performing the same gesture.

Batman frowned. What was she trying to get at? She couldn't do something, that much was obvious. Pointing to her eyes, that was a classic gesture for sight. Following that, she had pointed at her opponent. So she couldn't see it?

No, that wasn't it. It was obvious she could literally see it. A giant bat was hard to miss. There was another thing eyes did though and that was read. She couldn't read it, that had to be it. Head jerking slightly as realization dawned on him, Batman looked at the monster.

For whatever reason, Batgirl wasn't able to read its body language. That…was a major problem. As he understood it, most of her fighting prowess hinged on her ability to read and predict her opponent's next move. In fact, the reason why he had been able to defeat her the first time they met, he had confused her by sending mixed signals through his body language.

This was not good.

"Stay back," he ordered her as he stood up on his feet. "Use long range attacks only."

If there was anything else he could've said, he lost the moment to. With a cry, Huntress went sailing through the air, finally dislodged from her position on the giant bat's back.

Whipping around, he found the monster screaming with rage, its arms held as wide out as it could. Immediately, Batman began marching towards it, his hands reaching to a pouch on his belt. Opening it, he pulled out two brass knuckles and slipped them onto his hands. The moment his fingers squeezed into his palm, electricity began dancing over the brass knuckles.

He was done playing games.

Picking up his pace, the vigilante raced towards the giant bat, which had turned towards him, snarling to ward him off. Ignoring the animalistic warnings, Batman closed the distance between them, ducking at the last moment as the bat swung at him with one of its arms.

Immediately, he threw a punch, landing it on the giant bat's chest. A powerful jolt burned into the bat, causing it to stumble backwards, emitting an even high-pitched, _"SSSSCCCCRRRIIIIEEEEE!"_ Not letting up, Batman pounded fist after fist into Langstrom's body, each blow forcing the creature back a step. Each bolt of electricity weakened it, he could tell.

And yet, in spite of the pain that was being inflicted on it, the giant bat still tried to attack. Swinging on of its arms, it tried to ram its hand into the side of Batman's head. Ducking, the vigilante felt the wing of the flying appendage brush against the top of his head. Instinctively, he then shot up, delivering an uppercut to the monster's chin, sending it stumbling backwards. It even spun around until it ran into a row of crates, its upper body falling on top of them.

There was a grunt then, followed by a low growl. It seemed that even the electrified brass knuckles only did so much damage. Instead of needing time to recover, the giant bat suddenly whipped itself around, its clawed hands digging into the wood of the crate as it lifted it off the floor. Letting out a screech, it hurled the wooden box right at the Dark Knight.

There was no time to attempt to jump to a side. The only thing Batman could do was lean back as far as he could, even allowing his feet to slip right off the floor and gravity drop him. Thankfully, his every effort worked as the crate sailed narrowly over his head; in fact, he could see the flaws in the wood as it flew by his face.

That left him landing on the ground on his back. However, he wasn't one to stay a sitting duck. Flinging his arms up to his head, his hands pressed to the ground on either side. Swinging his legs upwards, he went into a flip, pushing off the floor and landing back on his feet.

Staring right at the giant bat, Batman found the creature returning his gaze. It then snorted, steam visibly blowing out of its nostrils before it spread its wings out wide. Beating them down, it then took off into flight, rising up into the air.

Suddenly, it leaned forward and dove towards the Dark Knight, shrieking as it charged. Diving to a side, Batman went into a roll, ending up crouched on his feet, twisting his body around to keep his eyes on the giant bat. Soaring upwards, it headed towards the ceiling as it made to swing back around. It barreled through some chains that hung from the ceiling, knocking a few down to the floor, one of which wrapped around one of its ankles, trailing behind in its wake.

Again it tried to dive bomb him, though this time the vigilante didn't have to attempt to move. From his left, several shuriken flew through the air. Unfortunately, the creature caught sight of this and altered its flight, dodging the projectiles. Turning his head, Batman caught sight of Batgirl holding more bat-shaped shuriken in her hands, though she was holding back as she tried to decide if she should throw another volley.

That hesitation allowed the giant bat, however, to make its own choice. Instead of trying to continue its assault, it instead swooped low to the ground, angling towards the wall with the broken window, the one that it and Batman had shattered previously.

Due to how low it was to the ground, this caused the chain wrapped around the creature's leg to bang and clatter across the floor. Spotting it as it drew close to him, Batman dove for the chain, his hands wrapping around it. That was when he nearly felt his arms wrenched out of their sockets as he was dragged across the floor behind the bat.

Then he was pulled up into the air. Langstrom headed right for the broken window, shooting through it with Batman right behind him. They went up above the buildings, the skyline visible to them.

" _SCCCREEEEEEEIIIIIIIII!"_

Suddenly, the giant bat jerked in another direction, the vigilante swinging widely through the air before following. Up and down, side to side, between buildings and over them, Langstrom flew. Every so often it would glance over its shoulder, snarl and then do another aerial maneuver, no doubt trying to throw the Dark Knight off its trail. From one side of the docks to the other and back, they flew over all of it.

Adjusting his grip on the chain, Batman held tightly to it. No way was he going to let this thing get away from him.

As they swooped over a building, the giant bat dove into an alleyway. However, it tilted its wings to a side until it was flying parallel with the building next to it. It wasn't until Batman drew closer to the building's wall that he realized just what the monster was up to. Due to the length of the chair, the vigilante arched widely through the air, the distance between him and the wall shrinking rapidly. There was no time to react, unfortunately, as his body slammed hard against the concrete, a pained grunt tearing out of his mouth.

Even worse, he lost his hold on the chain.

Gravity set in with a vengeance, and the Dark Knight plummeted towards the ground. Gritting his teeth, he quickly activated the electric current in his gauntlet and grabbed his cape, feeling it stiffen into its glider mode immediately. In an instant, he was soaring forward, no longer dropping like a stone.

However, his flight pattern dropped him much faster than he wanted, not to mention his speed was much too fast for him to recover enough to control his flight. Zipping forward, he flew headfirst towards another building, one that formed a T-intersection in the alley. Leaning to one side, forcing one arm down and the other up as much as he could, Batman tried to turn into the left-leading alley. He was unsuccessful as his entire front rammed into the wall.

Another grunt left his mouth before he dropped the rest of the way, landing roughly on the concrete ground. For a moment he laid there, not moving before a hoarse cough ripped out of his throat. Gagging, the dark-clad man gasped for air, trying to suck in as much as he could while his body rejected it.

Damn, this wasn't going the way he hoped it would. He hadn't expected the giant bat to make an escape, nor have enough reason to use its surroundings to knock him loose. There was more to this thing than just primal instinct.

He needed to warn the others.

Gritting his teeth, Batman pushed himself up. His aching body protested, but he largely ignored it—it would get over the abuse he put it through soon enough. Head looking up, the vigilante stopped when he noticed a familiar car parked just down the corridor he was in. In fact, it was right where he had left the sleek black car after arriving.

And suddenly he had an idea.

* * *

Huntress and Batgirl had just exited the warehouse when they got the call.

" _Huntress, keep Langstrom busy. Do not let him get away."_

Huntress rolled her eyes. Oh sure, _she_ was supposed to stop a giant bat creature from hightailing it into the Gotham night. What was she supposed to do, cripple it? With what?

The longer she hung out with the Bat, the more she found herself doing some rather insane things.

Still, they were here to capture this Man-Bat monster. Letting it get away was not part of the plan. First thing she needed to do was find it and staying at ground level was not going to help with that. Pulling out her grapple, she was about to fire it up at the roof of the building she stood next to when she noticed a tall crane nearby. If the dark-haired woman wasn't mistaken, it was one of the tallest structures here.

Changing targets, she fired the grapple up at the operating booth of the crane, hitting the retraction button the moment she heard the claw make contact with the metal behemoth. Soaring through the air, she reached the top, disengaging the grapple once she was perched on top of it.

And lo and behold, she had made the right choice. Darting up and between the dock warehouses was the Man-Bat. The chain Batman had grabbed before behind dragged behind it was still attached, but there was no sign of the vigilante. That sort of explained the man's order just now.

For now, it seemed this bat-turned scientist was more than content flapping around the docks. That could change at any moment though; she needed to ground it somehow. It was too far away for her to attempt giving chance; by the time she even got in the neighborhood it would have flown the coop.

It seemed crippling it somehow was the way to go.

Pulling out her crossbow, Huntress took aim with it. A scowl appeared on her face as she tried to get a clean shot, only to have the giant bat dart behind something, be it another building or the odd watertower. It was annoying to be frank.

Activating her comm link, she barked, "Batgirl, get that thing out in the open. I need a clear shot."

There wasn't a reply and the purple-clad woman hadn't expected one. Minutes dragged on though, which only added to her irritation. How long could she expect the mutated bat to stay here? It just kept ducking out of her sight, only to reappear a moment later. Why was it staying here, now that she thought about it.

Suddenly, a flare rocketed up into the night, followed by a high-pitched shriek—the giant bat no doubt. That was when Batgirl came racing around the corner of one of the warehouses, running down a path with the warehouses to her left and shipping containers and dock equipment to her right.

And barreling right behind her was the Man-Bat.

Huntress nearly smirked at the sight. That flare must have belonged to Batgirl and she had used it to draw Langstrom's attention. Having it chase her was rather brilliant so long as she wasn't caught. The dark-haired woman would make sure of that.

Taking aim again, she had the perfect sight of the Man-Bat's head. She barely moved it to one side and down before she squeezed the trigger, sending the bolt flying. The arrow shot through the air, closing in on its target.

Her aim rung true, much to the purple-clad woman's satisfaction. The Man-Bat screamed the moment the arrow ripped right through one of its leathery wings, puncturing it. Immediately it dropped to the ground, skidding over the cracked concrete of the dock.

"Pin it down!" Huntress roared into her comm link, hoping Batgirl knew what she meant. She was already reloading the crossbow, but it was a matter of time before the bat-creature got back on its feet and took flight. That time was most certainly less than it would take for her to reload and fire another bolt.

There was a flash of metal and Huntress noticed black spots on the Man-Bat's injured wing. Must have been batarangs from Batgirl. The monster merely paused, looking at them before it began pushing itself back up.

That hesitation was all she needed. Pointing the crossbow at the giant bat, Huntress fired it again, this time the arrow hitting the bat's other wing and nailing it down to the ground. A short, outraged cry came from the creature as it jerked its head to the offending projectile.

Holstering the crossbow, Huntress then leapt off the crane. The wind battered at her body as she plunged towards the ground. However, she didn't pull out her grapple. Her eyes were focused right on several cables that were hung from a pole, stretching towards one of the warehouses. Drawing closer to them, Huntress reached out and managed to snag two of the cables.

Using her momentum, she swung forward and then upward, right before swinging downward and letting go. There, that should've killed some of her lethal speed. Reaching to her cape, she grabbed it at its edges and spread out her arms as much as she could, trying to make a makeshift parachute out of it. This too slowed her down.

But not enough to hit the Man-Bat in the back of the head with both of her feet.

A load _BANG!_ rang out over the docks as the monster's face slammed into the ground. Springing up into the air, Huntress flipped her feet over her head and back down, landing with the grace of a pro gymnast. Spinning around, she stared the giant bat down, hoping that she had managed to knock it out with that stunt.

Aaaaand she had. Huh, who'd've thunk it? Slowly relaxing her posture as she stood to her full height, Huntress wondered just what she was going to tell the big B-man when he caught up.

That thought left her mind an instant later when the giant bat twitched. A moment later and it began to rise up, ignoring the batarangs and arrow in its wings. In fact, they went all the way through the wings, tearing more holes in them as it stood to its full height. It shook its head, probably to rid itself of the daze it was in. At no time did it actually pay Huntress any mind.

That was both relieving and irritating at the same time.

Then, despite conventional wisdom, it spread its wings out and began to flap them, taking off into the flight. With the wounds in its wings, Huntress would've swore it wouldn't have been able to take off, but her eyes were clearly telling her something else.

 _Now what am I supposed to do?_

As it turned out, not much.

Though it was trying to fly again, the Man-Bat had drifted towards the large, closed doorway of one of the warehouses. It was starting to pick up some altitude too.

And then the middle of the doors blew apart, pieces of metal and wood exploding in all directions. The intimidating front of the Batmobile burst through the hole it created and slammed right into the Man-Bat. Huntress watched with wide eyes as the giant bat was plowed into, its body hitting the car's hood before bouncing down the length of the vehicle, rolling over the windshield and canopy before it dropped to the ground in a heap.

In the meantime, the Batmobile soared through the air until it too landed on the ground. Immediately it swerved to a side, skidding to a stop as the rubber from the tires left black marks on the concrete pavement.

A moment later and the canopy slid open, Batman leaping out of it and came to stand next to the car. "So, this is why you wanted me to distract it," Huntress remarked after a moment, staring at the Dark Knight.

"Something like that," he replied. His body then stiffened and shifted into a defensive stance. "We're not quite finished yet."

Whipping her head around, Huntress watched as the Man-Bat began to push itself back onto its feet. Jesus H. Christ! She had made it eat pavement. Batman made it perform its best deer-in-the-headlights impression right before running it over with his car. What did it take to take this damn thing down?!

Her eyes then sharpened. If she wasn't mistaken, the creature was moving much slower. In fact, she could've sworn that it seemed hurt.

* * *

Batman charged at the transformed Langstrom. Hitting the monster with his car had definitely weakened it, which meant now was the best chance they had of apprehending it.

As the giant bat struggled to pick itself up, Batman swung a leg through the air, landing a kick to the side of its face. Immediately, he darted away before the bat could snarl at him, possibly even attempt to bite his leg off. His moved paid off as Langstrom did follow his movement with its head, leaving it blind to Huntress closing in on him.

Going in low, she held a fist out before she swung it wide, making sure to nail her foe in the face, despite it not looking her way. Much like him, the dark-haired woman immediately leapt away before the giant bat could retaliate against her.

Snarling, the Man-Bat forced itself back on its feet, turning to give chase after Huntress. Taking that opportunity, Batman raced in and sent a powerful blow to the beast's solar plexus. As the bat flinched from the hit, the vigilante swung his fists low, one after the other, landing a couple of blows to the gut before he shot to his left. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Man-Bat take a swipe at him, its winged arm barely missing his cape.

This left it wide open for Huntress to charge at it again, going into a flip the moment she was within striking distance. With one leg extend out, the other pulled into to her as it bent at the knee, she performed an ax kick, landing the powerful blow on the back of the giant bat's neck. Instantly the creature dropped to a knee, Huntress landing on the ground on her legs, one of which was extended out in front of her, the other tucked underneath her.

Alarms went off in the Dark Knight's head. In her current position, Huntress was vulnerable to a counterattack no matter how she moved. If she stayed where she was, she'd be attacked. If she tried to roll away, she left herself open for a kick from the bat's taloned feet. He needed to draw Langstrom's attention to keep the purple-clad vigilante—

A flash of metal caught his eye and a moment later the giant bat was screaming in pain. Jerking his head, Batman caught sight of Batgirl standing on top of a shipping container, shuriken clutched between her fingers. She must have thrown a few at the giant bat.

Swinging itself around, Batman received confirmation of this theory. Sticking out of the creature's back were three…no four shuriken, red blood saturating the brown fur around it.

Fortunately, this allowed Huntress to clear the area. With the Man-Bat wide open, the Dark Knight dashed towards it, leaping up into the air and extending a leg out. He landed his flying kick right at the small of the bat's back, causing it to stumble forward. Springboarding off the monster, Batman jumped backwards, putting some distance between him and his foe.

That was when Huntress appeared at his side. "I don't know about you, but I'm starting to run out of ideas," she said, never once pulling her eyes off of the giant bat. "We keep hitting it and hitting it, but it won't go down."

He could understand her frustration. Neither one of them had been holding back and about the most they had done was make this thing breath harder. He could see the giant bat panting, but that didn't mean it was fatigued. Animals perspired through their mouth, releasing body heat and sucking in cooler air to cool their bodies.

And then, the giant bat flung both of its wings out and let out an enraged scream. _"SSSSSCCCCRRRRRIIIIIEEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"_

Glaring at the two vigilantes it then began to charge. Instantly, Batman and Huntress shifted into defensive stance, though both were intending to dodge. No way were they going attempt defending themselves against this bigger, stronger monster.

That was when it happened. With every step it took, the Man-Bat seemed to shrink. Its fur began to recede, revealing naked skin. The bat features began to melt into that of Kirk Langstrom. The skin that formed its wings appeared to be sucked up right into the arms. What had started out as strong, stomping steps, became weaker, duller ones. Eventually, the Man-Bat was gone, leaving only Langstrom standing here in his ripped up pants. Fatigue was all over his face, his eyes rolling up into the back of his skull before he stumbled and collapsed onto the dock's floor.

Staring at the unconscious man, Batman blinked his eyes owlishly behind the lens of his mask.

" _What the hell happened?"_

* * *

It was with a groan that Kirk woke up. Everything about him hurt. It was a dull, throbbing sensation that filled his body from head to toe. In fact, he found it hard to breathe.

Discovering that he was lying face first on what was a cold, tiled floor, the scientist rolled himself to a side, groaning as he did so until he came to lay on his back. Though he found it easier to breathe now that he wasn't lying on his chest, a stinging pain burned into the back of his shoulders, causing him to wince. Couple that with the intensely bright lights from the ceiling and Kirk hissed from the pain.

"He's up."

Kirk froze. His eyes flew open, though he narrowed them just as quickly. God, why did he try to blind himself by staring right at one of the lights? Rolling onto his side towards the source of the voice, he found that he was in a large, white room. It was pretty much empty of anything from where he laid. There might have been some stuff behind him, but he couldn't quite make himself try to look for it.

There was a door on the wall to his left. It was pretty much right in the corner. And between him and it were three people dressed in dark-colored costumes.

The one that really got his attention was the one in the bat suit.

"Oh my god," he gasped out, wheezing shortly after. "You're t-the B-b-b—"

Oh god, why was he stuttering? Dumb question, he knew why. The freaking Batman was staring at him from across the room. If there was one thing Kirk knew, it was that the Batman didn't visit just anyone. You had to be in some serious shit for him to come see you.

 _Oh, Kirk, what have you gotten yourself into?_

There were two women here too. One was in a black and purple costume and a purple mask that hid most of the woman's face. The other was pretty much a copy of Batman, just smaller with a yellow bat symbol on her chest, and a mask that hid all parts of her face.

"Dr. Langstrom," Batman's gravelly voice suddenly spoke, causing Kirk to look right at the living legend. "We have some questions for you."

Kirk swallowed. "Y-yes," he sputtered out. "A-anything you w-w-want to know."

Batman took a step towards him and then another. Instinctively, Kirk shrunk on himself, making himself as small as possible. It was a submissive gesture common to the animal kingdom.

Coming to a stop, Gotham's Dark Knight kneeled down so that his terrible, white eyes bored into his frightened ones. "You've been quite busy during the last few nights," he remarked.

"I have?" Kirk responded before a host of images slammed into his head. The last thing he recalled was when he was with Francine and he was beginning to change again. After that…

"Oh my Lord, Francine!" he bolted his upper body up, only to collapse back to the floor. His sore body wouldn't' allow him much more than that. "Tell me she's okay," he begged the Batman, looking up at him pitifully.

Everything he knew about this black-dressed man was not exactly good. Batman beat people up, had zero patience for criminals, and didn't like begging. And here Kirk was, doing who knows what as a monster, and he was begging this terrifying man.

He surprised him. "Your wife is safe," Batman said softly, much to Kirk's confusion and relief. He didn't get much chance to dwell on that as the hero's face hardened. "She told me about your mutagen, that you voluntarily took it."

The scientist swallowed. "I did," he replied meekly.

"Why did you keep that to yourself, after your first transformation?"

"I…I didn't know what to do. In fact, I thought it was just a bad dream at first. It didn't happen for awhile and I thought I had imagined it. But now…"

"You're not imaging it."

"What have I done?"

"Aside from transforming yourself into a bat monster?" Batman asked rhetorically. "Some property damage, and that's about it fortunately." He then leaned in closer, causing Kirk to shy away. "I need to know that all of your mutagen is still at your lab."

"Yes, of course it is! I never took any samples out of the lab!"

"Did anyone else?"

Kirk immediately shook his head. "No. The only people that have access to it are myself and Francine and she would never take any of it home."

Batman continued to stare at him, almost as if his eyes could burn through any falsehood in what he had said. Kirk was thankful that he was speaking the truth; he could only imagine what it would've been like had he actually lied.

"You're absolutely sure about this?"

"One hundred percent."

There was a moment of silence before the woman in purple spoke up. "I think he's telling the truth."

That seemed to satisfy Batman, if only for a second. "You didn't tell anyone about this project of yours, correct? No one else knows what the formula is?"

Again, Kirk shook his head. "No. I never told a soul. Wayne Enterprises practically owns my research. There's no way they would let someone else profit from my work."

"Only the researchers on the project know about this? What about the Board of Directors?"

"I don't know about them. I think they know I'm running a project for them, but I don't know if they know the specifics." _Specifics…_

Suddenly, a cold shiver ran down Kirk's back. There was someone that knew about his work that should not have. His hesitation told Batman as much as his stony look became even more hard. "Th-there might be someone…" he mumbled.

"Who?" the vigilante demanded calmly, yet with the force of a hurricane.

"My father, Abraham. He knew of my work, somehow. He tried to lure me back to his company for further research. I didn't agree but the stress of it all made me go to my shrink and—"

"Shrink," Batman interrupted. "You told him about your problems."

"Yes." A sinking feeling filled Kirk's gut. _Oh no._ "And I may have mentioned to him that I was working on a project. I don't think I gave him details, but he knew I was working on something."

"What's the name of your doctor?"

"Erie. Victor Erie."

There was something about Batman's pause there that told Kirk something may not have been right. Suddenly, the vigilante stood up to his full height. "Stand up," he ordered.

Kirk found himself obeying immediately. Though it took awhile, he managed to get back onto his feet. "There's too many unknowns right now," the man in black said. "You need to make an antidote for this mutagen. I'm not taking the risk that someone else may have your formula."

"You want me to make it now? Here?"

Batman nodded before gesturing to something behind Kirk. Turning around, he saw there was a table with a couple stools around it. There wasn't any equipment, but Kirk had the feeling that would be changing rather quickly. "Huntress and I will gather you some equipment to work with.

"Batgirl will be staying with." Turning around, Kirk was surprised to see the Dark Knight standing next to the girl in question. _How did he get there so fast?_ He was talking in a hushed tone, but due to the acoustics of the room, even he heard what the man said.

"If he tries anything, take him down hard."

And as scary as that sounded, Kirk felt that perhaps that was deserved.


	25. Problems of Business

Problems of Business

"Glad you could make it out this early, Bruce. It's almost noon but you look like you just got out of bed. Life hard or are you taking it easy?"

That was how Harvey greeted the billionaire this fine day. The district attorney had been looking forward to this break in his day, a time when he didn't need to stress over poll numbers and statistics, pour through countless law books to address all the nuances of each and every case on his desk, or to lead the whole office and coordinate the efforts of each employee.

Best of all, he wouldn't have to put up too much of a front. He had never expected to be on friendly terms with one of Gotham's richest bachelors, a mere acquaintance at best, but here he was having lunch with this bachelor.

Said bachelor's appearance did nothing to debunk any and all womanizing rumors there were about him. Sure, he was dressed appropriately for a man of his status, hair was combed and face shaved, and there was hardly a wrinkle to be seen. It was all in the eyes; there was an exhaustion to them that hinted at late nights or long nights. Take your pick which.

"Sorry Harv, just starting the day late," Bruce quipped, pausing for a moment. It looked like he was trying to hold back in a yawn. "I've been having to deal with some unexpected things. It's been taking a lot out of me recently."

"Anything you'd like to tell me? If nothing else, I can be a good listener," the attorney offered.

"Thanks, but you're the DA. I don't want to potentially incriminate myself by saying the wrong things," the billionaire joked as he took a seat. Picking up the menu placed before him, he muttered, "What's good for a late morning headache?"

"Would that be a headache or a hangover? I can at least help with the last one," Harvey teased.

"I'll take my chances," Bruce replied as a waitress arrived, placing a glass of water next to Harvey.

"Need to stall for some time or ready to order?" the lawyer asked as he picked up the glass, taking a sip of the iced beverage. "I've had plenty of time and know what I want."

"I'll pick something at random," Bruce shrugged, eyes focused on the menu. "You order first."

Looking up at the waitress, Harvey gave a smirk and said, "You heard the man."

A couple minutes late, their orders taken, the two men were left to their own devices while they waited.

"So how's the campaign? I heard about that debate the other night," Bruce asked, not looking the least bit interested in the topic, but trying to start some kind of small talk.

"Better than what I expected, but not by much," Harvey answered. "I only went up by three points. Harkness picked up some steam and not much to say about Weinstein. Overall, nothing much has changed, even after having that debate."

"At least you didn't go down. That's something to look at," the wealthier man remarked.

"I swear, there are times where I wonder why I'm doing all this," the dark-haired attorney sighed. "Getting torn down one minute, being yelled at for taking too long on a case, and having to deal with government officials that get in your way with their string pulling and insane verdicts. And let's not forget scum that flip you the bird while getting a slap on the wrist."

Huh, where had all that come from? He had just blurted it out for no reason.

"This is really getting to you Harvey," Bruce commented, his forehead creasing.

"Yeah," he agreed, "but then I remember the faces of those who receive justice. The families of the victims smiling, truly smiling, for the first time in who knows how long…it's quite the sight. It's like you did something right for once and it feels good. I don't know if you've ever felt that way before."

"Every once in a while," Bruce replied, shrugging his shoulders like he was saying it wasn't a big deal.

"Maybe you haven't but trust me, you'll know when you feel it. It's like pride," Harvey described, "pride in what you're doing, and what you're doing is making the world that much better. You have made a difference, not just for the city, but for one person's life. And maybe you've inspired them at the same time. One of the cases I'm working on has that kind of feeling to it. Sure, it's a slam dunk, but the piece of shit involved deserves so much worse than what he'll get. But it's not about them, it's about helping the families of the people he's hurt. It's showing them that sometimes, things do work out. The good are rewarded, the bad punished. Like it's supposed to be."

"Actually, I think I do know what you're talking about." Harvey had to blink and look hard at the other man, because was it him or had Bruce Wayne spoken softer that usual? And he looked as if he did understand what he was saying, and not just agreeing for whatever reason.

"You do know, don't you?" he stated, nodding his head in approval. "Care to share?"

"Not right now, but sure," Bruce said, straightening up. "I'll wait for when it's the right time. I gotta give you some time to torture yourself about what it is."

"You're either a sadist or what you're hiding is really that big," Harvey chuckled. "Fine, hold onto it for now. Maybe I'll do some digging. Part of the job is being an investigator."

"You can try, Harv, but I think even your office would have trouble with this one." The billionaire was smirking at him, eyes twinkling in mirth.

"Challenged accepted, Bruce. I not only have the skills, I also have the luck," Harvey boosted. "Which reminds me. I found this the other day." Digging into a pocket, he pulled out a coin and showed it off to the billionaire.

"That looks like a quarter," Bruce said. "It's a little bigger but what about it are you trying to show me?"

"This, Bruce, is my father's lucky coin," Harvey told him. "Won quite a few bets with it. Until some unsavory folk found out about it and suddenly he wasn't lucky anymore."

"So?"

With a smirk, Harvey turned the coin around. Understanding dawned in the other man's eyes.

"Your father must have had balls to use a double-sided coin. I'm surprised people didn't catch on sooner."

"I'm more surprised he managed to hold on to it," Harvey admitted as he flipped the coin experimentally. Catching it, he looked at the image of Lady Liberty's profile staring right back at him before he pocketed it. Yes, Lady Liberty, because this wasn't a quarter, but a silver dollar. "I'd figured I'd use it as a prank at the office. Try to lighten the mood a bit. The election has a lot of people on edge right now, wondering who their next boss is going to be."

"Sure that's not more for you than them?" Bruce asked pointedly.

Harvey shrugged his shoulders. "It could be," he agreed without actually agreeing to the observation. "It was just a thought I had."

"You might want to think over it before you try it," Bruce recommended.

"Probably right." Deciding to change the topic, he saw that maybe now was as good a time as any. This morning the news, as well as the internet, had been blowing up about a story, one that happened to involve a certain company CEO. Then again, this was supposed to be a friendly meal with a man he was beginning to see as a friend.

"You look like you have something else on your mind," Brue stated.

"I do, but I'm not sure that I should mention it," he said.

"Don't make me have to do my own investigation, Harv. I may not look it, but I happened to have quite a few people on my payroll who are good at finding information. Let's skip all that and not have me shell out a few thousand, alright?" Bruce was having a bit of a laugh but Harvey wasn't too sure that the billionaire would be laughing for long.

"Well, you asked for it. There's been a story recently that's been causing waves," Harvey began. "Your name, more specifically, your company's name came up in it."

"You're going to have to be a bit more specific. There are a lot of stories that have my company's name in them."

"Are they stories that happen to accuse Wayne Enterprises of trying to create an army of Bat-like monsters with some secret experimental concoction of chemicals?" the district attorney laid it all out in one simple, neat question. "The name Man-bat has been flying around, probably because Batman has already been taken. So, any truth to it?"

Bruce's face was all the answer he needed. Instead of the jovial and friendly expression he was known to have, Bruce's face was a mask of stone that could give marble a run for its money. Then he spoke, his tone of voice deeper and darker than Harvey had ever heard it before.

" _What_?"

* * *

The image of Bruce Wayne was of an idiot. He was careless, preferred alcohol at all times of the morning, and was just smart enough to have smarter people running his business. He hardly worked, was so nonchalant towards his day job he might as well be an absentee. Carefree didn't do enough justice to describe the persona.

As the doors to the Wayne Pharmaceutical lab flung open, lackadaisical Wayne was nowhere to be found. Thunderous, enraged Wayne stormed into the lab, drawing the attention of most of the researchers. A permanent scowl was etched on his face, dark and stony. Bruce paid the scientists little mind, even though he was quite aware that they were staring at his rage-twisted face.

The people towards the back of the lab were still hard at work, some of which seemed to be darting from one side of the room to the other. Bruce didn't concern himself with what they were doing. There was one person he wanted to see and one person only.

However, his search came to an abrupt stop when he noticed the cages belonging to the lab rats. Gone was his anger, his mouth dropping open as horror filled his gut. Those rats, they looked just like miniature Man-Bats. Sharp shrieks escaped their mouths full of sharp teeth. Their winged arms flapped over and over, beating against the metal bars.

 _Mother of God…_

Had no one approached him, Bruce was sure he would've stayed rooted to that spot for most of the day. As it turned out Lincoln March had walked right up to him, tapping him on his shoulder. "Mr. Wayne," he greeted solemnly. "How—"

"What _the hell_ is going on here?!" Bruce exploded as he whirled around to face March, his anger once more on his face.

March, to his credit, merely flinched, but held his ground. "There was a slight…accident with one of our projects. No one's been hurt, but as you can see, there were some unexpected side-effects."

"Side-effects," the dark-haired man repeated skeptically. "You call this," he gestured to the cages with a hand, "a side-effect? What project was this? I want to know everything!"

"Are you sure?" the taller man questioned. "I know you're upset, but at the very least you can claim that you didn't know anything about it if someone were to come asking."

Bruce stared at Lincoln. Where had this guy been all morning? Admitted, the billionaire had been sleeping right up until his lunch with Harvey, so that was how he had missed the news the DA had shared with him. Lincoln, on the other hand, did not have that excuse. "In case you hadn't noticed, someone already has."

The entire time he had been in the lab, Bruce had been carrying a folded-up newspaper, tucking it up in his armpit. In one move, he snatched the paper out and slapped it down on a nearby table, the headline MONSTERS AT WAYNE ENTERPRISES boldly declaring itself on the face of the Gotham Star.

His face darkening, voice dropping an octave, Bruce said, "I want to know why _I_ had to find out about this through the damn media and _not_ my own people. Explain, Lincoln."

March froze at the sight. It was clear he had not been expecting this. Then, that moment of weakness vanished. "That's what I've been trying to figure out, Mr. Wayne," he replied after a moment. "And I believe that we have a mole in the department."

All around them, researchers froze. Though it was obvious they were trying to eavesdrop from the beginning, never mind they didn't have to bother trying since Bruce and Lincoln's voices were pretty loud already, the mentioning of a leak was enough to set everyone on edge.

That was beside the point. "I don't care if there is or isn't a mole," Bruce grounded out lowly. "The issue is that this was all kept within Wayne Pharmaceuticals. The Board should have been notified when this all happened. _I_ should have been notified. It's clear to me that the channels of communication have broken down here."

"And that will be remedied," March promised earnestly. "For now I'm more concerned about who talked. There's no telling what else has been leaked and to whom. As a company, we can't have all of our research given away at the last moment to our competitors after we do all the legwork for them."

Bruce took a step towards the taller man, closing the distance between them. "I want to know who knew about this and why they didn't report this to me. This 'mole' can wait. I want a full briefing tomorrow morning."

Spinning around, Bruce stormed back the way he came, heading right for the still-open lab doors. He was going to make sure this was taken care of. While March had an excellent point about corporate espionage, that hardly mattered. He should've known about this long before it was exposed to the public, plausible deniability be damned.

He shouldn't have to find out from Vicki Vale of all people about what was going on in his company.

"I'll see to it it gets done," he faintly heard Lincoln say reassuringly. "Someone will be sorry."

* * *

"Honestly, what is it with hired guns and putting some variation of death or kill in their names?" Throne grumbled as he flipped through the "resumes" scattered on his desk. All of them were for various men and women who happened to have the kind of career you don't market in public, and each was concise in what information was given.

"I did my best to find the ones that could be the best fit for the kind of job you want," Michael piped up. "These are some of the best with the most consistent records I could find."

"And you did a mighty fine job at getting them, Mr. Doubleday," Throne replied. "Still, I'm tempted to throw some of these out based on their 'names' alone. What's this one? 'Killshot?' And only five confirmed kills?"

"The hits were ones that required quite a lot of skill," Michael put in his two cents.

"He's a rookie and not up to the big leagues," the crime boss sneered in disgust. "Shred it. I don't want to rely on someone with a name taken from a Saturday morning cartoon."

"Very well, Mr. Thorne." The pencil pusher picked up the "resume" and held onto it, probably waiting until he had a few more before going to destroy them.

Looking for a few more, Thorne stopped on one that had quite a few impressive numbers. The fee was high, a million per hit. The confirmed body count, pretty damn high. Some of the identifies of his known hits were very high profile and very difficult to take out. This one looked good, except for one glaring detail that Thorne couldn't ignore.

"Deadshot? First we have a Killshot, now we have a Deadshot. Do assassins really have to emphasize the fact that they kill for a living in their monikers?" Thorne growled. "Whatever happened to names like the 'Cleaner' or the 'Doc?' Simple names that you wouldn't ordinarily link to murder."

"Shall I shred that one too?" Michael asked.

"No, this one is one of the better ones so far," he grumbled. "I'll hold on to it until I find someone with either better numbers or a better name. I honestly don't know which one I prefer at this point."

He had been at this all day and only now was he willing to hold onto one of the many prospects. What he needed done was something that no ordinary thug or lowlife was competent enough to do. Thorne wasn't stupid, he knew that none of his boys stood a chance at icing the Batman once and for all. A whole building failed to do it, so anything less was a waste of time.

Thus these "specialists" with the death-fetish names. Oh, come on, "Deathstroke?" Oh wait, and there was "The Terminator" after that. So not only was it a name, it had a title to add to it. Now this really was a goddamn cartoon. Though those numbers were very appealing to the eye, and the list of known skills made him consider for a moment.

He'll put this "Deathstroke" next to "Deadshot." Christ, those names were too similar sounding. Really, could these people just call themselves something normal, and better yet innocuous? A hint of deception goes a long way people. Put any form of dead or death in your name, you're crying for people to notice you and say "Oh wow, he must be a great assassin! I want to hire him!"

But not him. Not Rupert Thorne. He couldn't and wouldn't pick just anybody. Especially with ridiculous names that screamed for attention.

Sure, use a code name. Hide your identity. Thorne didn't really begrudge that because if no one knew your real name, they couldn't pin the crime on you. It was smart to do.

Just pick something reasonable to call yourselves already!

"Oh come on! _Deadline_?! They're not even trying anymore!" he exclaimed.

Kingslayer, Executrix, Pierce, Detonator, Camorouge, Battleaxe, Razorburn, Whip, oh, and perhaps a personal favorite, Lady Victim, really, who did these people think they were?

"You know, I would have thought that finding a person willing and able to take out the Batman wouldn't have included such stupid names," Thorne sighed, pushing himself back and into his seat. He rubbed at his forehead to try and calm down the headache he could feel growing.

"I'm sorry, sir. I paid more attention to their qualifications than their names," Michael apologized, not even having the guts to look at him.

"Just as well. I'll see about getting over this pet peeve of mine." A pet peeve he only now discovered, thanks a lot you hacks. Reaching out, he picked up the next "resume," finding out shortly it was more of a folder. Hmmph, someone was overcompensating. "Hey, what's with this one?"

"That one is a bit of an up and comer," Michael answered. "Started becoming active over the last few years and has been making a name for himself. There was more…information on his jobs. They're…different from the others."

"Hopefully the right kind of different," the crime boss commented as he opened the folder. Okay, the usual information, though some of the dates on the hits showed a lot of recent activity. But wait, there was more. There were pictures in here. Probably what Michael was talking about.

No way. No way were these real. Alright, what did it say about his weapon of choice again? Now that was impossible!

"Is this some kind of joke?" he demanded, glaring at his overglorified assistant. "I want some answers, Mr. Doubleday."

"I verified them, Mr. Thorne. It's all legitimate," Michael hastily answered, swallowing. "I had some difficulty myself, but it all follows up. It's real."

"You mean this guy was able to accomplish this," Thorne smacked the opened folder down on his desk, revealing the images of various individuals practically broken in two, the bodies all in awkward positions that were not naturally possible, along with walls with gaping holes in them, "with only his _bare hands_?!"

"That is correct, Mr. Thorne."

Unreal. Truly, it was unreal. What was this person, someone like one of those superpowered freaks you could find in Metropolis or Gateway? Hmm, no place of origin mentioned. Nothing about where such abilities came from.

Yet…this could be what he was looking for. If what Michael said was true, that meant this person had skills with hand-to-hand combat. He could get in and take the bat-themed menace head-on and more than likely win. Hell, one hit was probably all it would take.

Taking a second to look up the assassin's name, he grimaced.

Well, at the very least, it wasn't as bad as the others. A bit more subtle, but if you knew what it meant then it was obvious that this guy could be nothing other than a killer. However, the results that he had evidence of so far hinted at such efficiency that even if he couldn't do the job right away, he was more than capable of providing a distraction.

There was one last question that needed to be answered first, though. "What's the price," he muttered.

He soon found it.

" _Five million a head_!" he shouted. " _Five million_?!"

"I was worried that the price might rule him out but I figured that should be your decision, Mr. Thorne," Michael explained, his voice low like he wasn't trying to attract attention.

Five million? You had to do an exceptional level of work to demand that kind of pay. And you better damn well be worth it. Failure could _not_ be an option.

Thorne had to think about this. He needed to think about this more than he had the others. Was this one the one he wanted? The others had more reasonable prices, along with longer histories.

Recalling the recent dismantling of one of his more lucrative ventures, one that had promised to put him in league with the billionaires of this city, and knowing who was the one responsible for it…

…as well as considering the fact that he may be stuck with that masked freak up until the day he was put into handcuffs, that ended whatever problem he had.

"I want this one," he declared, holding up the folder. "If I'm to prosper in this city, then money is no object. One way or another, the Batman needs to be out of my hair. For good. Contact our specialist Mr. Doubleday. Use the diamonds Frankie recovered as the down payment. Let's get this done once and for all."

Then, as an afterthought, "Shred the other 'resumes.' I don't need them anymore."

With that settled, it was time to get back to some light reading. Yes, the unofficial biography of Harvey Dent. Trading one folder for another, Thorne made himself more comfortable as he read through the confidential file of a certain DA's psychological state.

Now that he could focus on more important things, he needed to change up his strategy. So long as he had this file, it didn't matter who won the election. Either his thorn in the side DA dropped out or became a puppet, it didn't matter. Mort Weinstein no longer mattered.

It wouldn't be long now before he finally had all of Gotham in the palm of his hand.

* * *

Things were coming together quite nicely.

Putting the final touch into the notes of his latest project, Dr. Erie allowed himself the moment to feel satisfaction. Everything was progressing as per his design. Given a little more time, and this client should prove to be one of the more entertaining ones to date.

Rising from his seat, Erie made his way to the windows of his penthouse and looked out into the city beyond. Everything was so ripe and ready for what was to come. So many changes awaited it and he was having difficulty maintaining his patience.

Such a struggle would have to wait when a knock on the door echoed throughout the real estate. Knocks on his door had been becoming more frequent as of late. Based on prior experience, the person on the other side of the door was most likely Kirk Langstrom. He had been showing up a lot recently, not that Erie minded.

As he made his way to the door, he wondered what new surprise awaited him this time. One could not say that the Langstrom saga had been boring. Opening the door, the shrink found himself surprised at what he found.

He had only been partially right about who was paying him a visit. It was indeed a Langstrom, just not the right one.

"Victor Erie?" demanded the voice of none other than Abraham Langstrom. Erie recognized him from the pictures he had found when looking up this man's information. It was necessary since Kirk happened to speak about this man and it wouldn't due for him not to be up to date.

"That is I, yes," Erie confirmed, nodding his head. "How may I help you."

Without waiting for him to move, the elder Langstrom shoved his way past the psychiatrist. From the way he moved, it was like he was a conqueror, making a survey of his latest conquest.

"I'll cut to the chase," Langstrom stated as he spun around to face him. Meanwhile, Erie had closed and locked the door, to maintain the privacy of this meeting. "I know Robert is seeing you. You shrinks keep files on all your patients. I want Robert's, end of discussion."

Erie quirked an eyebrow in amusement. "I'm afraid I cannot confirm or deny—"

"Do not give me the runaround Erie. Make this easier on yourself," Langstrom interrupted. Pulling out a very familiar business card and practically shoving it into his face, the Langstrom patriarch continued to press his advantage, "I found this in my son's wallet. I know he's seeing you. I want the file you have on Robert—Kirk Langstrom."

"I seemed to be having problems with individuals wanting to have access to _confidential_ files lately," Erie replied dryly. "Again, Mr. Langstrom, I have to refuse you. This is more than just protecting a client I may or may not be seeing, this is upholding the highest echelons of ethics. True, your son may have had that card in his wallet, but you have no proof I was the one to give it to him."

"You shrinks and your double talk," Langstrom growled, full out glaring at him. "Do you know who you are messing with?"

"Of course, Abraham Langstrom, the up and coming business tycoon that's been giving Wayne Enterprises a run for its money. It's hard not to know who you are when you are in the business section of the newspaper almost every day," the shrink answered casually.

"Then you can guess what I am capable of."

"Is that a threat I detect?" This unplanned and unexpected meeting was becoming more and more entertaining by the moment.

"I don't make threats, Erie. I make promises."

Erie was having to hold back a laugh. Really, did this man think he would be intimidated by such a show of force? He had witnessed much better men do so much more with so much less. Where was the subtlety? The finesse? How this man was creating waves in the business world said so much about the state of financial and commercial institutions.

Giving a short, sharp whistle, the shrink commented, "Your tenacity has been well documented, Mr. Langstrom. However, I'm afraid you will find—"

Suddenly, the larger man was mere inches away from him, glaring down at him like the emperor he believed himself to be considering the fate of an unruly subject. He was using his larger size and demeanor to intimidate him, such a primal way of establishing dominance. However, Erie had seen better before.

"Do not test me, Erie. I don't care who you are, who you see, or what you're trying to hide with that horrible toupee, but let me tell you this. You do not know what I will do with you if I don't have my son's file in my hand in the next minute. Let me promise you, you have seen nothing compared to what I'll do and before I'm finished, you will be begging me like a dog. You have fifty seconds now."

Had Erie been a lesser man, he would have been completely cowed. There was a part of him that was certainly impressed. With movement occurring behind the tycoon, things were about to come to a head real soon. Best to play along.

"Very well," he acquiesced. "I hope I will be able to retrieve what you desire before my friend decides to _act_."

Langstrom snorted at him mere seconds before a stomp sounded behind him. Snapping his head around, the rest of his large body began to turn just as large hands tipped with sharp claws grabbed him and held him up into the air, his designer shoed feet dangling in the air.

"SSSSKRRRRRAAAAAAHHHHH!" a bat-like creature screamed into the businessman's face, bits of saliva spewing out of a toothy mouth and splattering against the helpless man's face. It was a shame that Langstrom was turned around; Erie would have loved to seen what the unflappable man's face looked like in the moment.

"What the devil is this?" Langstrom demanded as he struggled in the monster's grasp.

"Just a friend," Erie casually remarked as he made his way to small lamp table. Pulling open the small drawer, he removed a small syringe that was filled with a clear liquid, a tranquilizer to be more precise. Etorphine was not easy to get your hands onto, but Erie was not about to let something like the law prevent him from getting a very effective means of sedation. "Now, Mr. Langstrom, or shall I call you Abraham? You appear to be a very stressed man. Allow me to provide you with some relief."

"You have no idea who you are dealing with," Abraham growled, continuing to struggle.

"Maybe, but the same could be said about yourself," Erie replied flippantly as he approached the furious man. Testing the needle of the syringe, he unceremoniously jabbed it into Abraham's neck and injected the potent tranquilizer. Abraham's body froze then began to struggle once more only less aggressive.

It didn't take long for Abraham to succumb, becoming unconscious as he dangled in the bat monster's grasp.

"Very good," Erie praised. "Let us get him prepared. Though unexpected, I do believe I have a use for our guest."

* * *

With dusk arising, the psychiatrist double checked to make sure everything was ready. He stopped only long enough to observe his pet, a Man-bat as the news was starting to call them.

How apropos.

Now, to business. The toupee-wearing M.D. approached the still sedated Abraham, armed with another syringe. Unlike the last one, this had something to wake him up.

Precautions were already taken. Abraham was restrained to a counter, his sportscoat and dress shirt removed so that all he remained in were his wifebeater, his suspenders, designer shoes, and a necktie that Erie had kept on because for some reason it fit the picture better. Despite his age, Abraham had kept himself in remarkable shape. He was more fit than men half his age.

This was becoming a better and better idea by the second.

With this second injection, it didn't take long for the Langstrom patriarch to rouse. Everything else fell in place like dominoes: discovering restrained movement, seeing the bindings, and lastly expected rage.

Rage that soon targeted him.

"You are a dead man," Abraham swore.

"You're very intimidating from this position, Abraham," Erie mocked as he took a step away to survey his work thus far. "Do continue. Terrify me if you can."

"Do you know who I am? What I'm capable of?" came the too predictable response. He had already used that type of threat. Honestly, it was very disappointing. After the tales that Kirk had spun for him, he had expected so much more.

"I believe we've been through this," the shrink spoke dismissively. "Whatever power you claim to have, I believe we have proven is worthless, especially in the face of this." With his last words, he directed all attention to the Man-bat that took up post on a chair. How it hadn't broken yet escaped even his mind, but then again, this was a very unique scenario. "Do you think he cares who you are or what you're capable of? I think not."

"So you have a pet. You can't fight on your own, can you?" Abraham sneered at him.

"And why would I want to?" Erie quipped back. "Why risk physical harm to prove what exactly? I have found that using my intellect to get what I want is much more advantageous and carries an extremely small risk of harm. You, my friend, on the other hand, are a brute in fine clothing. You portray status and importance but you are no better than a common thug from the streets. You have no vision, only banking on the bottom line which will get you nowhere if you're not willing to gamble for a big win."

"Who do you think you are? You know absolutely nothing about me," Abraham snarled.

"I know plenty. Poor Kirk, a great mind like his damned to exist around you. What a waste." This was getting boring very quickly. For a man with no spine like Kirk Langstrom, this helpless savage was a nightmare. For someone like him, a pawn to be moved on the board and nothing more, a sacrifice in the making.

"Still, I have far more respect for your son than I do you," he continued before any more inane comments could be thrown at him. "Really, he is a genius. After all, my pet here is a product of his work."

"You can't be serious." Ah yes, disbelief, how he knew its bitter sound.

"I wish I could claim it as my own, but I do have to give credit where credit is due," Erie admitted. "While searching for a cure for hearing loss, he instead developed a mutagen. That is truly the story of science. We search for one thing only to find something else. In Kirk's case, what he found is far more useful than a measly cure." As he spoke, he walked about the space he had reserved for this. "It was simple enough to get out of him with a little hypnosis. Unfortunately, chemistry has not been one of my strong suits, sadly. Fortunately, I have colleagues who are and he was more than willing to aid me in my endeavors."

"What are you talking about?" Abraham demanded.

"Something that is beyond your feeble understanding," the psychiatrist taunted as he stopped by another counter. Reaching forward, he picked up the third syringe of the night. Unlike the last two, this one was much bigger, with a longer needle, and a larger payload to boot. A light, pinkish fluid filled the glass chamber, the toupee-wearing man gazing at it in awe.

"Behold!" he announced, spinning around and showing the large syringe to his captive. "The fruit of your son's labor! The mutagen he unknowingly created and perfected through my own machinations. The Matbat serum fully realized!"

Abraham continued to glare at him. "You're insane. You belong in Arkham with all the other lunatics."

"We'll see," he chuckled, stalking his way to the restrained man. "In the meantime, allow me to give you something that no amount of money can purchase for you. That the power you have now pales in comparison to. You think you're mighty now? You know nothing, nothing at all puny man.

"But I shall correct it for you."

Erie stabbed the needle into Abraham's neck, attempting to get close to the jugular artery. Pushing down on the plunger, he watched as the mutagen was pressured out of its home and into the body of its new host. Abraham made no noise, making quite a show of trying to remain stoic through the process.

Once the syringe was emptied, the needle was pulled out, leaving only a miniscule trail of blood to leak out. Erie pulled away, never taking his eyes off his victim as the time ticked away. Grunts left the bound man's lips but if he was trying to fight the mutagen, he was going to lose. Time would triumph in the end.

The first sign that the mutagen was taking hold was the inhuman growl that seeped through Abraham's lips, his teeth beginning to sharpen. Hair began to sprout through the skin as the face started to elongate. Abraham's growls soon turned into snarls, growing louder and louder in volume.

Erie's lips twisted, forming a large smile filled with teeth as the transformation began in earnest.

* * *

Author's note: Yes, the names of the assassins Thorne was looking through are actual names of DC characters. Even Killshot, whom I never heard of and the name I picked up from Robot Chicken sketch. Still, if you are wondering about the identity of Thorne's selected hitman, the price should be a hint. And for an additional clue, don't limit yourself to the comics, look also at other mediums like TV and movies. Or you can wait. Take your pick.


	26. Another Bat in the Belfry

Another Bat in the Belfry

"I knew you had it in you, Vale," Harry proclaimed. It wasn't often the Gotham Star's editor smiled. Most times he was scowling and barking orders. Today, however, he had a large, genuine smile on his face.

And Vicki was enjoying every moment of it.

"I know you know this already, since you're conceited." _Asshole._ "But you're the Number 1 reporter in this entire stinkin' city." _Damn straight, she was._ "Stories like this prove it. You just get lazy sometimes, so someone—meaning me—has to give you a swift kick to the ass."

And they were back to asshole.

"You say the sweetest things, Harry," Vicki replied, her tone dripping with sweetness. Sarcasm was such a great thing. "And while I would _love_ to keep hearing you praise me, I have to go back to work. There's so much more to follow up on this story."

That got Harry's interest. "There's more?" he questioned greedily. "You were holding out on me, huh?"

"Oh, Harry, you should know that something this big requires more than just one story. I've got an entire series planned."

"You know, if you weren't a redhead, I'd say you were the daughter I never had."

"…you have two daughters."

"And neither of them are like you. Now shoo, I need to organize the templet for the next edition."

Rolling her eyes, Vicki left Harry's office, the clacking of her high heels reaching her ears as she made her way to her desk. The entire trip had people giving her thumbs up, congratulations, and even a hug. Oh yeah, she had missed this attention.

Part of her wondered just how they would react to her real story.

The exposé on Wayne Enterprises was a nice thing. Vicki had been more than ready to stick it to Bruce Wayne; she just needed the right piece to do it. He deserved every bit of blood he was about to let after the shit he pulled on her.

Despite these monster bat-things his scientists had created, the reporter knew this was more of an inconvenience for someone of Wayne's stature. He would weather it like he had many of the other scandals that had rocked his company. She was perfectly aware of just how little he knew about the inner-workings of Wayne Enterprises.

She would have thought that had she not known just _who_ he really was. In Vicki's mind, there was another use for this bat serum Bruce had concocted. With the presence of Superman and the Justice League, people with superpowers were everywhere nowadays. No way would Bruce sit on the sidelines as he was outclassed in every way, shape, or form. He wanted this serum to give himself superpowers, even if it turned him into a giant bat.

If it wasn't for Batman being sighted with the giant bat, she would've thought it was Bruce flying around at night.

Which reminded her, she hadn't heard back from her P.I. in a while. She needed to call him up to see just what was going on with his investigation, if Leslie Thompkins was as neck-deep in the Batman operation, and a number of other things.

Sometimes she wondered just what she paid him for.

That could wait though. Taking a seat at her desk, she lounged in the chair for a moment, collecting her thoughts. She hadn't been lying when she said she had more on this Science-Gone-Mad story. Wu had given her so much material, she wasn't sure what all to do with it. Sure, she lacked photographic evidence, but as of now there would be an official investigation. A call to one of her police contacts had already verified that the GCPD was on the move.

A small smile began to form on her lips. This was only the start of her being a thorn in Bruce Wayne's side. Every article she'd put out would cause another fire for him to put out, leading up to the biggest one of all. Let him scramble around, she would be patient.

After all, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

* * *

It was strange being alone. For so long, Batman had company with him on his patrols, be it Batgirl and/or Huntress. Tonight, for the first time in awhile, the Dark Knight was out on his own.

It was soothing.

Huntress hadn't been able to make it. _"I've got a lot of papers to grade,"_ she had said, which the vigilante was more than happy for her to handle. Though it was her day job, education was important and she owed her students prompt grades.

Batgirl, on the other hand, was in one of the bunkers—or as Huntress had called it, a Bat-Bunker—he had throughout the city. She was keeping watch on Langstrom, who was hard at work developing a cure for his mutagen. Considering the young vigilante hadn't sent out a distress call, he was assuming all was going well.

Which left tonight's patrol up to him.

Scaling a building, Batman finished the climb and hurried along the rooftop, coming to a stop at a corner. Looking out into the city, he searched for impending trouble, spotting none. Holding his position, several minutes went by without so much as a cry for help. This block was clear.

Firing his grapple, Batman ascended another, taller building, crossing over it and leaping out into the night's air. Activating the glider form of his cape, he soared through the sky until he came to another landing atop another building. Much like before, he made his way to a corner and posted up, searching for trouble.

This time, unfortunately, there was a scream. Immediately looking down, Batman noticed a building across the street from his position. If he wasn't mistaken, it was a homeless shelter, something that caused him to narrow his eyes. Normally the front door was shut at all times, a glass window with its steel security gate blocking view into the place. What was infuriating was that the window was shattered, the gate ripped through.

As if the homeless didn't have enough worry of violence.

Once more activating the glider mode of his cape, Batman descended to the building, landing in front of the open door. He jerked to a side immediately as a homeless man came barreling out, screaming as he fled. He didn't even stop to look at the Dark Knight as he raced down the street.

Watching for a moment, Batman then looked back into the shelter, pulling out one of his bat-shaped shuriken just in case. Cautiously he passed through the doorway.

If he hadn't been angry before he entered, he was now. This homeless shelter had once been a secondhand shop, which meant the first room he entered was large and open. Bunk beds had formed rows across the room to maximize bed space.

That how it should have looked. The beds were all lying against the walls, broken and twisted into unrecognizable shapes. Even worse, there were bodies of homeless men and women, dead from being punctured by jagged metal posts that had formed the beds. Their blood leaked out onto the floor, painting the walls.

However, not all of the bodies had been stabbed. Glancing to one lying on the floor next to him, Batman found himself narrowing his eyes. The injuries on the body were not caused by debris, that he was certain. In fact, if he wasn't mistaken, something had cut this man into pieces.

A sick, wet sound reached the vigilante's ears then. Looking up, towards the corner of the room there was something hunched over, trembling. If Batman wasn't mistaken, he could've sworn he was hearing the gnashing of teeth.

Taking a step towards it, a creaking sound was made as his foot pushed down on the floor. That was all it took for the figure to freeze. A second later, it turned to look towards him.

Whatever this thing was, it wasn't human. It's animalistic face was dripping with blood, predominantly from its mouth. There was something hanging from its rather large teeth too. A quick glance behind the thing revealed a man lying slumped against the wall, his neck ripped out, and face froze in a scream.

Dear Lord, this thing was eating him!

" _SSSKKKRRRRRAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"_ the monster bellowed before it twisted around and began charging at him. This provided a much better view of it and one that caused Batman's stomach to drop.

 _Man-Bat!_

Now that he had a better look at it, there was no way Batman could've mistaken that bat-like face, the elongated ears, or the winged arms. However, as it closed the distance between them, the dark-clad man couldn't help but note that this one was much, _much_ larger than the one Kirk Langstrom was.

Immediately, Batman sent his shuriken flying at the beast, the projectile colliding with its face. The Man-Bat stumbled as its head jerked back, releasing a monstrous roar. Oddly enough, a tie swung wildly around its neck, beating at a blood-soaked undershirt.

Lunging forward, the Dark Knight extended an arm out, bending it at the elbow. Balling the hand into a fist and clasping his other hand around it, Batman rammed his elbow right into the Man-Bat's throat, knocking it back a step and causing it to gag. Letting go of his hand, he then slammed a fist into its face, snapping its head to a side.

Unfortunately, just like Kirk Langstrom, this one also had a fast recovery time. _"SSSKKKRRRRRAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"_ it screamed at him, whipping its head back as it sent blood and saliva flying out of its mouth and pelted the vigilante's face. Faster than he could react, the Man-Bat grabbed him by his shoulders and upper arms and hauled him off the ground. With a swing, the Man-Bat threw Batman up into the ceiling.

Instead of smashing into it, Batman burst through it, sending pieces of wood and sheetrock flying in every which direction, but mostly upward. The next thing he knew, he hit some sort of floor, rolling on it a couple times before he came to a stop.

A groan escaped Batman's lips. Was it just him, or was this Man-Bat stronger? He didn't have much time to consider that thought as the beast shot up through the hole it had made, landing heavily on the floor. Letting out another roar, it then lunged towards the Dark Knight, extending both of its massive hands out. Even more importantly, claws that undoubtedly ripped more than its fair share of people gleamed in the night light that poured through the open window.

Despite all conventional wisdom screaming at him to move out of the way, Batman pushed himself up as quickly as he could before he scrambled towards the Man-Bat. That was the only thing that saved him from having those wicked-looking claws rip through his body. Instead they tore into the floor where he had been lying only a moment before.

Now though, Batman was right between the monster's legs and the torn pants that covered them. Continuing to scramble, he finally emerged completely behind the Man-Bat and quickly rose to his feet.

Immediately, he pushed off the floor and rammed his shoulder into the bat creature's back. Though there wasn't as much force as he wished there was, because of the Man-Bat's stooped posture, its balance was completely thrown off. Stumbling forward, it ran face first into the window and shattered it, falling through the window sill.

Shooting both hands out, Batman caught himself by placing his hands on either side of the now-open window. He fully expected the creature to come right back at him, but instead its large, bulky body shot by the opening, instead flying out into the night, shrieking as it flew.

Had he the strength, Batman would've given chase. Instead, he sunk down to his knees, panting heavily.

Langstrom had lied to him. That was the first thought that popped into his head. Considering the multiple times he had come across the Langstrom Man-Bat, he knew this one was different. For one, it was much larger, if not physically stronger. Secondly, it clearly had a taste for human flesh.

Steeling his face, the Dark Knight knew he was going to have another conversation with Kirk Langstrom—and it _wasn't_ going to be a pretty one.

* * *

Harvey had been getting ready to leave when the phone rang. Damn it, why did it have to happen now when he was about to go out the door on time for once? Another downside to the job, it seemed.

Giving a sigh, Harvey placed down his briefcase and picked up the infernal phone receiver. In contrast to his thoughts, the attorney spoke in a pleasant tone, "Dent."

" _Harvey, it's been a while._ "

Harvey frowned. "What do you want, Thorne."

That was deliberately said as a statement, not a question.

" _That's quite a welcome there, Harv. I'm hurt._ "

"I don't have time for your games, Thorne. I'm going to hang up now so say whatever it is you want to say while you can." Just hearing that man's voice was enough to put him on edge.

" _I think you'll want to stay on the line longer than that. Because what I have to speak with you about is something that you're going to want to stay for._ "

"So what is it this time? Another deal? I'm not interested," he dismissed.

" _Depends on your perspective._ " There was a chuckle, one that grated on the DA's nerves. " _I've been doing quite a bit of reading lately. Riveting stuff._ "

"You're not about to give me an essay on Shakespeare, are you?" the irritated man cut in. Where was that bastard trying to go with this?

" _Ah, ah, you're starting to sound angry there, Harv. Makes me a bit nervous there._ "

Oh he was making him nervous. Right. Harvey hardly believed that. And why was Thorne calling him Harv? Like they were that close.

" _Then again, I have to remember who I'm talking to. I mean, I could be talking to someone other than Harvey Dent._ "

Christ, this was just another game. "Okay, you've had your fun. I'm leaving now."

" _Not so fast. I just need to make sure if I'm talking to Harvey or, what was that name again? Ah yes, 'Big Bad Harv.'_ "

Harvey froze up. Then he began to clench a fist. "What are you trying to get at?"

" _A very important question, Harvey. One that I'd think the citizens of Gotham might want to know. What kind of person are they going to vote for as their District Attorney. Or should I say, what kind of persons?_ "

He actually had to bite his tongue. Otherwise, Harvey knew he would have said something that would have only confirmed whatever suspicions Thorne had about him. Except, were they really suspicions?

 _I've been doing quite a bit of reading lately_.

Shaking his head in denial of what that sentence implied, Harvey grasped at what he could to try and get out of this situation. He needed to turn this around, get some kind of upper hand over Thorne, or at least make Thorne think he had the upper hand.

"Grasping at conspiracy theories now? You must be desperate," he taunted. "I'll give you points for coming up with a new one."

" _That's rich, coming from you Harvey. Judging by your tone, you still don't believe me. Well, maybe this tidbit will change your mind on that. There are many signatures on these pages I'm looking at. Can you guess what name they spell? I'll tell you. Victor Erie. It's also printed elsewhere, followed by the same signature. That's right Harvey. I have your confidential mental health file. I know everything._ "

There was a sudden weakness in his knees. He had to sit down. Now. Okay, he was seated now, but that wasn't enough to stop the cold sweat he was going through. No, no, this had to be some kind of nightmare, because Rupert Thorne could not have gotten his hands on that file. He couldn't have!

" _It's all here. A gambler of a father who happened to like the bottle more than his family. The mother who never stood up for herself. It must have been hell growing up that way. It was so bad that you started getting blackouts, and these went on so long that someone had to take the driver's seat. And Big Bad Harv was the one to step up to plate._ "

Harvey could feel the sensation of falling back, darkness clawing at the edge of his vision. No! No, not now, he couldn't! He needed to face this, not disappear from the world.

" _I'd think the press would have a field day with all this. And as a concerned citizen of Gotham, I think it is my duty to give it to them. The people have a right to know._ "

Not when the future of Gotham was on the line. Not when cooperation between the police and the DA's office was at its best ever. Not when it was at this critical point where it could all fall apart, the people did not need to know. Especially when it involved the inner workings of his own head.

Thorne had him right where he wanted him. And the kicker, the bastard could still turn over the file even if he did or agreed to everything that criminal wanted.

Maybe it was by serendipity, intuition, or pure dumb luck but at that moment Harvey recalled that he too had some leverage. The kind of leverage that would give him the upper hand.

"Go ahead Thorne, and maybe I'll turn whatever I have to the police, or better yet the press too. Let's see how well you do."

" _Whatever are you talking about Harv? Or is it Harvey? You two look so alike._ "

"I have your books Thorne. And every incriminating move you made for the past five years. It's the kind of thing I think you'd not want to lose track of. Shall I read out a few names first or are you going to take my word for it?"

There was quiet on the line, the mob boss not saying a thing. Harvey's heart was hammering in his chest, giving him quite a bit of discomfort. Was Thorne going to bite? Not that the attorney was bluffing himself.

" _I've been wondering where those things have gone. It's so good of you to find them for me. I think we can work out a deal between the two of us, Dent. Let's not involve anybody else, no commissioners, no cops, nobody. Just you and me. You give me my books and I'll hand over the file and we're back to square one again. I think these terms are acceptable, don't you think?_ "

 _He bought it._

"I accept. Shall I go to you or you come to me?"

" _Let's meet at a reputable place of business. I know just the place. Thorne Enterprises, tonight. The sooner you come, the sooner we can put this all behind us._ "

"I'll be there," Harvey stated, swearing it as a promise. Hanging up the phone, he immediately slammed the side of his fist against the surface of the desk.

Goddamnit! God fucking damn it! How did this happen?! How did Thorne—no, it didn't matter how he did it. All that mattered was that he had that file, that incriminating file. The secrets he kept, not just from other people but from himself, was in that smug bastard's greedy little hands. That had to change. Harvey needed to get that file back, no matter the cost.

But would it be such a cost?

After all, the moment he had gotten his hands on those books, he had had multiple copies made of them. So he could still hand these books back to Thorne _and_ continue working on the prosecution. Provided he won the election, but that was an entirely different matter. Something to think about later.

Yes, let Thorne think he was getting one over him. Even better, with the information in those books still in his possession, he would be able to go after him and the only way to prove that it wasn't real was to give up the real ones.

The only flaw would be if Thorne made a copy of his file. He had no idea how long he had it, but it couldn't be risked a minute longer.

With that, Harvey went to work.

* * *

With the eyes of Batgirl boring into him, Kirk administered the antidote unto himself. It was a bit tricky to do as the only way to ensure that it worked was to take it while in the early stages of the transformation. If there were no reduction in the physical changes, he would immediately be dealt with by his watchful guardian where he would have to come to before starting again.

Hopefully that wouldn't have to be the case.

As the minutes passed, it seemed as if the worst case scenario was bearing out. His hands were growing, there was an increase in hair, and his face was beginning to elongate. From where she had placed herself, Batgirl was readying herself for her strike.

Then the scientist felt a shift. Releasing a gasp of air, he felt as if he was shrinking somewhat. Hair that had once been sprouting was retreating back into his skin. His face flattened back into humanoid features. His hands returned to their normal state as if nothing had happened.

Taking in deep breathes, Kirk slumped over his work space, recovering from the aborted transformation. It seemed as if he had developed the antidote after all.

Though her eyes never left him, Batgirl appeared to relax. At least, that's what he thought. It was hard to tell to be honest.

What had taken months to do, to formulate, to synthesize, and ultimately developed was now undone in a matter of hours. How long had they spent creating that mutagen? Kirk could not remember anymore. In less than a day, he had managed to create its antithesis.

Maybe that had to do with the equipment in this place. The computer was far more advanced than anything that could be found in Wayne Enterprises. The tools and lab equipment were on a level higher than state-of-the-art, if that was even possible. The chemicals he used were of the highest quality here as well. How was someone like Batman able to get his hands on all this?

With all this at his fingertips, he was able to devise the antidote that was demanded of him. To do that, he had to come up with the faster way to neutralize the serum. Thanks to the resources in this place, he was able to isolate the portion of the mutagen that triggered the transformation in the first place. After that, it was coming up with something that would eliminate that portion and thus reduce the mutagen into a harmless substance. He had probably come up with a few breakthroughs in here but good luck for any of them leaving this place.

"I'm fine," he spoke up through his panting. "You don't have to do what you're planning to do. Okay?"

No answer, but that was to be expected. All this time, his guard had not spoken a word. Due to this, along with the absence of anyone else, Kirk had found himself talking out loud. It was mostly to himself but he found that it was helpful whenever he struggled in his appointed task. He couldn't say one way or the other if it had been helpful or not, so he wouldn't try to determine which it was.

Really, the only question left to him was: now what?

He had accomplished what he had set out to do, so what did he do now? Was there anyway to communicate with the Batman? Tell him that he had synthesized the antidote? Or was he going to have to wait here for who knew how long?

"Langstrom."

Kirk jerked and twisted his head around as the vigilante himself stood behind him, glaring down at him. Without warning, he was grabbed and pulled up so that his face was inches away from the scowling man. Kirk could only stare with eyes wide with fear, wondering what he had done to incur this.

"You lied to me."

That had not what the researcher had been expecting, especially not from someone like this. Quickly, he tried to come to his own defense.

"I've never lied to you! I don't know what you're talking about! What do you mean?"

"You told me you told no one about the mutagen," the vigilante growled.

"I didn't!" he insisted.

"Then why did I find another Man-bat?"

If there had been any wind in Kirk's sails, it was long gone now. "What? How? That can't be possible! I've told you everything!"

"Who else did you tell?" Batman demanded, shaking him slightly.

"O-only the ones that I-I've told you about," Kirk stuttered. "I swear! Only the team, my father, and Dr. Erie knew about the project and only Francine and myself known the actual chemical structure. And Francine would never tell anybody. She yelled at me about it when she found out I was hiding the truth about it. I don't know what you saw, but it could not have been anyone changed by the mutagen!"

Dropping him, the Batman stalked towards a computer and began to type at its keyboard. That was definitely a sign that Kirk was not out of the woods yet.

Once he was done doing what he was doing, Batman stepped away from the computer, making space enough for Kirk to get a look at the monitor. White eyes glared at him with a silent command to move over there and look.

Swallowing, Kirk obeyed the order, knowing he had no choice in this. He was afraid of this masked man enough as it was. He didn't want to give him any reason to hurt him anymore than he already was. Even now he still felt sore from whatever beating he had experienced before being taken here. Now that he was bereft of any enhanced capabilities, there was no way he was not going to feel what would happen if fists became involved.

On the monitor was a split screen of two images. Both were of frightening-looking creature, each with bat-like characteristics. In some ways, batman would be the better term for them than for the man beside him. With it already taken, Kirk supposed that Man-bat would have to do.

"The one on the left is you," Batman stated, Kirk's attention going straight to the image on the left. Was that what he had looked like? Francine must have been terrified. That was several hundred pounds of mass there with only a pair of torn up pants to conceal its modesty. Completely unrecognizable from the runt of a man that he was.

"The one on the right is the one I encountered only an hour ago." Now directed to the image on the right, Kirk could already spot some differences. This Man-bat was much larger than the one on the left, muscle bulging on its frame. Either a wifebeater or a tanktop was hugging the hairy torso, stained with blood and on the verge of ripping apart. The fashion choice aside, it was easy to tell this one was more of a brute.

Then Kirk's eye caught on to a small detail. There was a necktie around the Man-bat's neck. While some would dismiss that as nothing, Kirk recognized it for what it was.

That was his father's necktie. He'd recognize it anywhere.

"Well, Langstrom?" The deep, demanding voice interrupted the scientist's thoughts, requiring an answer out of him. Kirk was not sure he could give him the answer the vigilante was looking for. Even he was trying to wrap his mind around this because it made no sense.

"This doesn't make any sense," he vocalized his thoughts. "How? I mean, I know they're the same kind of creature, it's obvious. But I don't know what that second one is doing there. I did not tell anyone how they made this."

"Someone did, Langstrom. Think. Who else would know?" The Batman was putting on the pressure, not willing to give up on this.

"Only Francine knows and I told you already, she wouldn't share this information. She knew how important the project was for me." Kirk gripped at his head, fighting off the growing headache within. Then a thought occurred to him. "Arthur is the only one I can think of. Which still doesn't make any sense since he didn't have the same clearance as I or Francine."

"Who's Arthur?"

"A member of the research team. He was caught spying on us for my father," Kirk explained. "Did he return and steal it? Or the formula itself? No, that can't be it."

"I don't have time for this, Langstrom. Tell me who you told. Whoever they are, they've already mutated one person. Who knows if they'll do it again." The impatience in Batman's voice was audible, but for the life of him, Kirk couldn't think of anybody.

The idea that it might be Francine was one he did not want to contemplate. At all. She had been the one to go to Batman and beg for his help. She wasn't some lunatic waiting for the perfect opportunity to do…whatever the person who had the mutagen was planning.

There was so much going on and he couldn't think straight anymore and—

Once again, Batman was pulling him out of his thoughts, grabbing him and pulling him close. "What aren't you telling me Langstrom? Do not test my patience."

"I don't know! I don't…know…" What was the use? There was no way he could give an answer that would please him. Fine, let the blows come. It wasn't like he wasn't unused to them. Growing up the son of Abraham Langstrom was not an easy feat to accomplish and it came with its own hard knocks.

"Pull yourself together," Batman ordered. "I will find whoever is responsible for this latest Man-bat attack and you better hope it's not someone you've ruled out. People have died because of this and I will not accept anymore. If you're not going to give me a name, then you're going to start making more of that antidote. As much as you can. Starting now."

Kirk found himself being shoved back to his workstation, almost in a daze. Yet, he was able to catch himself in the nick of time. He used the counter to steady his balance and eventually stand on his own two feet, though whether he would remain standing was debatable as his knees were knocking together.

That was a sign of fear, wasn't it?

"Get to work Langstrom. We don't know how much time we have. I'll track down 'Arthur' and then pay your father a visit in the meantime," Batman continued. Turning to Batgirl, he issued his next order, "Watch him. Make sure he works. I'll be back shortly."

Stalking out of this place, Kirk was left along with his silent vigil once more. Shivering, Kirk turned to the chemicals, beakers, and filters he would need to use. Now definitely seemed like a good time to whip up as much of the antidote as he possibly could.

And maybe while he was at it, he could figure out who had taken his serum.


	27. The Colony Takes Flight

The Colony Takes Flight

Erie gazed out at the city, the blanket of night covering it lit up only by the city lights. Despite the lack of daylight, Gotham was still as active as ever. Regardless of the time of day, it would always be vulnerable.

A rumble behind the shrink reminded him of the reason for that vulnerability.

Turning around, Erie allowed his proud gaze to fall upon the large group of Man-bats that collected itself in his penthouse. They came in a variety of shapes from small to large, colors from dark browns to muted grays, but one and all were ferocious as the next. He paused as he took time to look over the one oddity that was drooling. Said drool dripped down onto the carpet where an acidic reaction occurred.

Professor Milo had certainly gone all out with his creativity. He would have to get back in touch with him and praise him for his ingenuity.

This wasn't all of them. One was absent, still out in the city. From the reports on the news, the sightings of the monster Abraham Langstrom had become were making the rounds. Death had already resulted and the seeds of panic were sown.

But it wasn't enough for there to be one out there, two if you counted Kirk Langstrom. Some company might be appreciated. But why just make the odd one or two Man-bats when you could unleash a whole colony of them?

If fear was gripping the streets now, wait until this.

Glancing at his watch, the corrupt psychiatrist smirked. Any moment now, the colony's sedatives would wear off and their more aggressive natures would rear their ugly heads. Along with that would be the…substance that made them highly suggestable to his commands. A small addition he had made when creating this small army of his.

Now where could he get such numbers in such a short amount of time, you may be wondering. A simple answer to a simple question. His clientele was finally making use of itself. No more complaints of relationship problems and anxieties now. Who would when they were a powerful beast gifted with the ability of flight.

"Come my children," Erie said aloud, moving to the windows. Opening as many as he could, he gestured out into the innocent night beyond. "Take flight and make this city your own. Kill those who would deny you your nesting grounds and feed to your hearts' content."

It was the feeling of satisfaction he felt as his colony of perhaps thirty—he had lost count at some point—unfurled their wings and flapped out to establish their dominance in their new territory. Though silent now, the burst of activity would wear off the rest of the sedative and the night would soon be filled with their shrieks.

Then, he said to himself, "Let's see how you deal with this one."

* * *

"I didn't expect to hear from you, Barb. What's this all about?" Dick asked as he entered the redheaded woman's apartment. He had not been expecting the call, especially from her since she had been all but silent, staying in this place for so long and barely doing anything.

What else was odd about the call was that for once, she sounded _excited_.

Even now it was still a mystery to him but the young man was sure he would soon be finding out the answer.

"Yo, Barb. What's going on?" Tim asked, moving around him.

Oh yeah, and Tim was with him. Hold on, what was up with that "yo?"

"You boys took your sweet time!" Barbara called out to them as she wheeled herself out of her bedroom.

"In our defense, you just called and told us to get our fat butts here," Tim quipped back. "So what's got you all excited, not that there's anything wrong with that."

"Sometimes, you need to know when to shut up, Tim," Barbara replied as she headed over towards her computer station. Huh, there was a lot more electronics there than he last remembered. Where had it all come from? "I wanted to show you two what I've been working on."

Her fingers tapped rapidly on the keyboard, lighting up the three computer monitors placed in front of her. As everything set up, Dick withheld judgment even as a standard desktop background appeared on each monitor. Speaking up which…

"Gonna tell us where you got two more computers from?" he asked.

"Nope," Barbara answered without looking at him.

"Anything you want to tell us?" he threw out a second question.

"I'd rather show you."

Soon, what looked like some kind of city map appeared on each monitor. Other windows opened up, all kinds of words and number scroll up them rapidly. Without warning, from a set of small speakers, what sounded like a voice on a radio spoke. Sounded like a dispatcher alerting nearby law enforcement of a convenience store robbery in progress.

"What is all this?" Tim spoke up, bewildered.

"This is what I've been cooking up. What you boys see here is the city of Gotham," Barbara presented to them proudly. "Right now, I'm tapped into almost every system in the city. Traffic, law enforcement, emergency, you name it. I'm almost done doing the encoding for the sanitation and school networks. Other than that, I am perhaps one of the most connected people in the city right now."

"Whoa." Tim was obviously impressed. So was he for that matter. Still…

"What brought this up? It's amazing Barb, but what's your reason?" Dick questioned.

For a second, Barbara grew quiet, almost sullen. Then, "I was thinking about things after you two told me about that bust. And I want back in Dick. But I'm stuck in this damn chair. I know, things have been tough with me, but I've realized I've been wasting my time and life sitting here feeling sorry for myself.

"When you two showed up that night, you were both so alive. I almost forgot what it was like and it…reached me, I guess you could say. Since I can't be out there with you, I thought that maybe if I couldn't be out there with you, I could find a way to watch your backs."

"That's great!" praised Tim. "What else can you do with this stuff?"

"More than you know," she told the teen. "As you can see, I'm up to date with any and all criminal activity as it happens. I could direct you straight to it so you guys can do something about it. That way, you're not wandering around waiting for something to happen."

"Tim's right. It is great," he added his two cents in. "We can be more effective now, start having more of an impact—"

" _Dispatch, I need backup! The sky's full of them!"_

" _Unit 145, what is the sky full of? I repeat, what is the sky full of"_

" _Bats! Giant bats! Oh my god, they're—one's on car! Goddamn it, send in backup now!"_

The trio fell silent as the back and forth continued. A shrill beeping noise sounded through the speakers as red target-like symbol popped up on one the screens.

"A bit of a delay," Barbara muttered to herself as she focused all her attention on the monitors. "Okay, that's Siskel and South Roepert. Damn it, I haven't finished with the transmitter yet!"

"What are you talking about?" Dick was getting into serious mode, thrown off by the traffic on the police radio and the activity on all the computers.

"I had planned to make some kind of radio receiver so I could keep in contact with you guys. I'm not done with it yet," Barbara explained. "Here we go!"

One of the monitors changed its image to the upside down face of a monster. The three recoiled from the sight as whatever it was opened its mouth, revealed very sharp-looking teeth, and lunged forward, static replacing it. Silence reigned for a moment as they all tried to comprehend what they had just seen.

"I think this is the job for some kind of superhero," Barbara stated. "Since I don't know where any are, I think you two will have to do."

"Right. Tim, we need to get to the container and get changed." Dick turned to his younger partner and shared a nod with him.

They may not know what was going on, but they were going to punch their fists into it anyway.

* * *

It was hard being prepared for the weirdness that festered in Gotham City. Some nut building his own Wonderland? Check. A deranged clown hell bent on burning the city down? You betcha. A sick, perverted guy in a pig mask that was a sado-masochist? Do you even have to ask?

Yet, none of this could have prepared Black Canary and the rest of the Birds of Prey for giant bats.

Pleural.

The hum of the motorcycle became a deafening roar as Black Canary revved the throttle. Tilting her head to a side, she caught sight of a few of those bat creatures hot on her tail, thankfully drifting back as they couldn't keep up with her speed. Katana and Manhunter were on their own bikes and had done the same.

" _Mind telling me what the hell these things are and where the hell they came from?"_ Manhunter demanded over the comm link. _"I didn't see a swarm of mutated bats on tonight's forecast!"_

"I have no idea," the blonde woman replied. Seriously, one moment the Birds were on patrol, the next they were being attacked by these things.

Chalk one up for Gotham City Weirdness.

Of course, now that they were pulling away from their pursuers, they had to run right into a trap. Out of nowhere, one of the bat creatures came flying at them from the side. Surprised, there was nothing Black Canary could do as it rammed into her motorcycle, knocking it onto its side. Because of her momentum, the blonde vigilante went sliding down the street, doing her best to haul herself onto the side of the vehicle and not drag herself on the road for a bad case of road rash.

As if to make matters worse, she had been pushed right in front of Manhutner's bike, causing her to veer out of the way. Katana did the same, but this killed their speed, allowing the giant bats chasing them to catch up.

As her bike came to a stop, Canary looked over her shoulder as Katana leapt off her bike, allowing it to continue rolling away unmanned. Soaring through the air, she lashed out with her sword, one slash doing enough to cause the bats to scattered, though not before one was cut along its chest.

" _SSSSSKKKKKRRRRIIIIEEEEEE!"_ the monster screamed as it went careening into the ground head first. Blood from the cut left a trail in its wake as it slid across the pavement.

That was when Manhunter pulled right up to Black Canary. "You okay?" she shouted as she parked the bike.

"Oh, I've been better," the blonde remarked as she shakily got back onto her feet. Fortunately she was in time to see two of the giant bats flying at them. "Get ready," she ordered as she fell into a fighting stance.

The moment the monsters were within striking distance, Black Canary leapt at them, swinging a kick at the face of one of her attackers. Much to her surprise, while she landed the blow to the creature's face, it brushed it off, using its momentum to ram into her, knocking her back onto the ground, landing hard on her backside.

Grimacing, Black Canary didn't stay that way as she saw the giant bat, angle its flight upwards above her just before dropping down, leading with its taloned feet. Eyes widening, she immediately rolled to a side, dodging the feet as they slammed down on the pavement she had been lying on.

Because it had been aiming for her face, its feet were right by her head. Shooting an arm up and bending it at the elbow, she then rammed her elbow up against the ankle, feeling it give out as the giant bat gave out a sharp shriek.

Unfortunately, that was the only sign that it gave that it was in pain. Hopping a few steps away, the giant bat held its hurt foot before gingerly placing it back on the ground, standing on it for no worse for wear. Staring at it from where she laid, Black Canary watched with wide eyes as its body stilled, its hair bristling all over its body, before it lunged at her.

Instantly, Black Canary twisted her body so that she was on her back. Bringing her knees up to her chest, she began to roll upwards onto her shoulders before she shot her legs out. This time, fortunately, her feet slammed right into the monster's throat, this time causing it to gag and nearly stop in its tracks.

That's where momentum finally became its enemy. As it continued to move forward, Canary used her legs to keep it up and above her, moving with it as she completely rolled over her shoulders and head. Bringing her legs down, she was soon crouched on the ground, the bat creature crashing head first into the street asphalt.

Of course, that's when a second giant bat decided to attack her.

Screaming what she came to believe was its war cry, an even bigger bat charged at the blonde vigilante from her left, causing her to jerk her head towards it. However, before it could actually hurt her, its torso suddenly jerked to a side at an awkward angle before it screamed once again, this time from what had to be pain.

The bat then flapped away, revealing Katana standing behind it, her sword dripping with blood. "Thank God it's you," Black Canary breathed with relief. "Having any luck with that?"

Much to her disappointment, the Asian woman shook her head. "No finishing blows," she reported. "Shallow cuts at best."

Glancing around her, Black Canary could make out far more of these bats than she had wanted to see, many with various cuts on their bodies. Though they were clearly bleeding, there was no way they could be life threatening if the vigilante was honest with herself.

That's when Manhunter appeared next to them. She was breathing hard, both of her arms up in a defensive posture. "Okay, I'm running out of ideas guys," she admitted. "And I think these things stole my staff, otherwise I'd blast them with it."

Now that was disappointing. Martial arts weren't really doing anything, Canary could attest. Katana and Manhunter's main weapons weren't getting the job done either. And as they stood there, more and more of those creatures were beginning to show up, surrounding them from all sides. That made their options very few.

Well, if they needed a last resort…

"Cover your ears," Black Canary ordered as she stood tall, pulling her shoulders back as she began to suck in a deep breath of air. Seeing what she was preparing to do, the two women immediately clasped their hands over their ears and kneel down.

Then Black Canary screamed.

The effect was instant. The glass from the buildings immediately cracked, shattering a moment later. A powerful wind blew away from the Birds, sending a cloud of dust blowing down the street.

As for the giant bats, they all crumbled to the ground, their shrieks of pain going unheard as they were overwhelmed by the Canary Cry. It wasn't just in front of her either. A glance to her right and left showed the bat monsters were all dropping to their knees or flat out collapsing.

Black Canary kept it up for as long as she could before she finally ran out of breath. Stopping, she gasped for air, though she kept her piercing blue eyes open, looking from side to side and even behind her. Much to her satisfaction, the bat creatures were all lying on the ground, twitching and chirping rather pathetic-sounding sounds.

"Geez, I'll never get used to that," Manhunter remarked, her voice louder than normal. No matter how she protected herself, she couldn't cancel out all of the noise of the Canary Cry. "My ears are still ringing."

"It worked," Katana said succinctly. "It like they are actual bats."

"Then that's how we're going to treat them," Black Canary responded. "I'll scream as long as I have to to take these things out."

* * *

The swarm had come out of nowhere.

Racing across the rooftops, Batman glanced over his shoulder, spotting three unmistaken Man-Bats giving chase. Their jaws snapped at him, sharp shrieks ringing out every so often. It was clear they were trying to subdue him.

The vigilante had been on his way to see this Arthur colleague of Langstrom's. First he had researched the employee files at Wayne Enterprises through the computer linkup in his car. As it turned out, this Arthur lived close-by, so there was no point in taking the car there. Traveling by foot was quite fine.

And then out of nowhere the skies were filled with Man-Bats. Stunned at the number of them, it wasn't until he noticed a few peel off and make a beeline right for him; thus his current predicament.

Reaching the ledge, Batman leapt off of it, dropping towards the next building below. Landing on his feet, he pushed off and took off running again. This, of course, did not deter the Man-Bats as they continued their chase.

However, the drop had given the Dark Knight enough time to pull out a few shuriken from his belt. Once again tilting his head to a side to look at his winged pursuers, the vigilante felt they were close enough that they wouldn't be able to dodge his projectiles. Leaping to a side as he twisted his body around, he sent the bat-shaped shuriken flying.

And as he hoped, the Man-Bats were unable to dodge. Two took the shuriken to the head, stunning them as they dropped from the air and landed hard on the roof, skiding across it until they came to a stop. One, however, was hit in the chest, the projectile bouncing off of it harmless.

" _SSSSSKKKKRRRRIIIIEEEEEE!"_ it screamed as it closed in for a bite. Batman clumsily dove to a side, barely avoiding the creature as it passed right by him. Landing on the ground on his shoulder, the dark-clad man went into a roll, ending up on his feet. A quick glance around him showed there was a roof access right behind him. The Man-Bat, however, was circling around until it began charging right back at him.

Unlike the one at the homeless shelter, this one was more in line with Kirk Langstrom's Man-Bat. Maybe a little thinner, but that hardly mattered. Edging backwards, the vigilante waited as the bat-creature closed the distance between them.

Then, at the last moment, he dove forward, going into a roll. This allowed him to go right beneath the Man-Bat, once more dodging it. This time, however, the Man-Bat flew face first into the roof access, a loud _bang!_ echoing out.

Ending up on his feet and facing the roof access, he saw the Man-Bat on its knees, pressing its mutated, winged hands against the brick-and-mortar. Pushing off, Batman raced at the dazed creature, leaping up into the air as he leaned back and extended a leg out. His flying kick slammed into the back of the Man-Bat's head, bashing it against the wall, causing some of the bricks to creak and crumble.

Thankfully, this knocked the Man-Bat out as it slumped to the ground. Staring at it for a moment, Batman was about to walk off when he heard sounds behind him. Turning around, he saw the other two Man-Bats getting onto their clawed feet, growling menacingly.

 _Damn it._

Then, as if the make matters worse, two more Man-Bats were swooping in, screaming out war cries. Growling under his breath, Batman took off running again, this time with four Man-Bats hot on his heels.

This time, though, he noticed an alleyway up ahead. Picking up his pace, he dove into the alley, letting gravity dropping him down towards the pavement. Two of the Man-Bat's zoomed overhead, while the other two tried to follow him down. One was successful in its change in flight; the other, on the other hand, slammed hard into the top of the wall of the building.

As Batman grabbed onto the ends of his cape, using it to parachute himself down, he landed on the ground roughly at the same time as the clumsy Man-Bat crashed right onto a dumpster, crushing it down as it sides dented outwards.

The suddenness of the landing caused the other Man-Bat to veer off flying towards the entrance of the alleyway and then out. Watching from where he stood, Batman saw it make a U-turn and begin flying right back towards him.

" _SSSSSKKKKRRRRIIIIEEEEEE!"_

Looking up, Batman saw the other two Man-Bats diving down the top of the alley. Quickly, the vigilante reached for his belt and pulled out a flashbang grenade. Making sure the creatures were still coming at him, he then threw the device hard onto the ground, causing it to detonate.

If it wasn't for the protection his mask afforded him, Batman would've been blinded and deaf due to the proximity of the flash and thunderous _BANG!_ Instead, he watched the three Man-Bats immediately go careening into the sides of the alley, bashing into the walls and dropping hard onto the ground.

That probably stunned them, which Batman was more than willing to take at the moment. A retreat was necessary and the safest place for now was back at the bunker. He'd need whatever antidote Langstrom had developed and hoped it would be enough for this.

Turning away, the Dark Knight hurried down the alley. It was time to regroup.

* * *

Shoving in a round, Cort cocked his pump action shotgun, readying himself for war. So was the rest of the department as the locker room was filled with cops in riot gear. SWAT should also be getting ready.

They weren't taking any chances. Reports about a swarm of giant, man-like bats was not going to be treated like a joke. They were going to go in and do a little rodent extermination. That's right, lethal force. Sure that order hadn't come down the pipeline from Gordon, but they weren't going to be waiting for it.

After all, all the guys around him shared his own opinions about this city. None were liking the direction it was going.

That shrink's words seemed to be prophetic. A crisis was indeed immanent. It was happening now. And Cort saw it for the opportunity it was.

"Alright guys, we all know what we need to do," he yelled out above the noise, the locker room quieting down for him. "Some sick fuck has let his zoo out and it's up to us to make sure those bastards know we're not taking it easy on them. Take'em all down and make sure they don't get up. Get me?"

There was a lot of understanding, a lot of nods and grim faces agreeing with him. However, Cort was not yet done yet.

"Also, if you happen to see anybody wearing a mask or ridiculous costume, show'em how dangerous it is to be out tonight. They need to know that vigilantism ain't fun and games. We need to show them all that these are our streets. Ours! Not theirs! Ours!"

There were a few wide-eyed looks, but more than a few "damn right!"s were tossed out.

"Lock and load boys. Let's make everybody know that we own the streets," Cort finished, leading the charge out into the city they were sworn to protect.

* * *

Swinging the door open, Batman barged into the bunker, slamming the door shut behind him. Though he had been careful to return here without a tail, that didn't mean a stray Man-Bat hadn't spotted him at the last second and followed him. It was always best to be careful than careless.

"We're out of time," the vigilante announced as Langstrom and Batgirl look to him, the former startled by his entrance, the latter stoic behind her mask. "I need all of the antidote you've made, Langstrom."

"Now?" Langstrom asked with surprise. "I-I mean, I've made some, but I haven't had enough time to—"

"We're out of time," the vigilante interrupted. "Gotham's under attack by Man-Bats. I need everything you've got and you need to keep making more."

The scientist quickly nodded. "Okay, okay, I'll do that."

"Now where's the antidote?"

Raising a hand, Langstrom pointed to the end of the table where a large beaker sat over a bunsen burner. A blue liquid bubbled continuously from the heat of the lit frame. Staring at it for a moment, Batman was slightly disappointed that was all that had been made. Still, given the short amount of time he had been gone from the bunker and had been attacked by the Man-Bats, perhaps this was better than should have been expected.

Still, it needed a delivery system and that took time and that was something they were sorely lacking. Unfortunately, there was no other choice in the matter.

Heading to a wall, Batman pressed his hand against it, his finger finding the switch imbedded there. Next to his hand, a large section of the wall sunk away before it slid to a side. A series of shelves appeared as a light fixture flickered on from the ceiling of the hidden room. Equipment was set up on each shelf, though there was one that the dark-clad man wanted.

Grabbing a couple boxes of vials, he then brought them to table, setting them down next to the antidote beaker. "Start loading the antidote," he ordered Langstrom before turning back to the shelves.

As he made his way back to the shelves, Langstrom asked, "What do you intend to do with it?"

Reaching the shelf, Batman kneeled down to grab the handle of two black cases, lifting them up before carrying them back to the table. "I need to be able to administer the antidote as quickly and efficiently as possible. While there's not much, the more we can cure, the less damage they'll cause."

Setting the cases down on the floor next to the table, the vigilante once more spun away. This time, however, he walked towards a computer panel. The moment he reached it he began typing on the keyboard. A computer screen lit up in response, an assortment of letters and numbers appearing.

"And while you're doing that, I'm going to call in some help."

* * *

What had she been thinking? The activity on the computer monitors were all over the places, her map of Gotham City filling up with more and more red targets, signaling the site of another bat attack. The radio traffic was just as bad, only now the sound of gunfire was added to the mix.

And here she was, trying to keep up with it all. With all that said, she was also trying to come up with a makeshift radio transmitter on the fly, most of it in the digital realm so it really wasn't physically next to her. Not that it would do much good, seeing as she was unable to keep in contact with Nightwing and Robin.

As she had told them before they had rushed off, she would find a way to contact them. With each passing minute, it became less and less likely that she would be able to. Goddamn it, why did whatever this was have to happen now? When she was far from ready? It made her feel like rage quitting more than once, but seeing as she was a woman who had a stubborn streak a mile long, she wasn't about to give up just yet.

Yet being the key word.

She had changed one of the monitors so that now she was getting feed from various CCTV cameras, the dashcams on any and all police vehicles, and the traffic cams that were only focused on the various intersections throughout the city. She didn't know if that was a good thing because she now had a front row seat to all these Man-bat creatures swooping in and attack.

None of it was pleasant to watch.

"C'mon, Barbara, now's not the time to mess up," she said to herself as she tapped keys with one hand and adjusted the volume of the speakers with another. The sound of the frantic police line was starting to become distracting.

She couldn't let herself fail, not when she had began to get her feet back under her. It wasn't fair that just when she had found a new role for herself she was already being put to the test. This was a trial by fire and she wasn't halfway done with what she was trying to do.

Somewhere out there, Dick and Tim—no, Nightwing and Robin—were going to be fighting for their lives as they tried to fight off the internet-named Man-bats. If they weren't careful, they might end up like her, paralyzed. The wheelchair-bound woman would be damned if she let that happen on her new found watch.

Glancing over at the camera feeds, she cycled through them, doing her best to narrow down the area these monsters were centering on. She'd work on where they came from later. With them attacking everything in sight, there was no time to play detective right now.

Hold on. Going back a few feeds, she found Nightwing and Robin appear, weapons in hand and ready to brawl. Okay, they were at…they just got to Siskel. She'd keep an eye on them and see if she couldn't figure out someway to contact them.

Going back to the radio, she grimaced at the repetitive information. Let's adjust the frequency, try to see if she couldn't get something new out of it. Maybe she should check to see where her father was. No doubt he'd be leading some kind of charge to try and take back their city. Much like her partners, she also needed to know he was safe.

Suddenly, a voice slipped out of the speakers that made her pause. It wasn't the voice of a panicking police officer, nor was it the sound of her father. No, this voice she would recognize anywhere. Because she would never mistake the Batman's voice for anything else.

Let's adjust that frequency again. If there was anyone in this city who had a plan, it was Batman and Barbara was determined to help out in any way she could.

* * *

The wind whipped at Batman's cape. It was cool, calming, a direct contradiction to the mayhem that was current being wrought on Gotham tonight.

The vigilante stood on one of the city's tallest skyscrapers. This was the rendezvous point he had given out over most channels, save the police. No need to tell those gun-happy yahoos where most of the city's vigilantes would be, especially after that debacle at the construction site.

Batgirl stood nearby, the only one with him on the roof. It had been a tough call, but she was needed out here in the streets than at the bunker guarding Kirk Langstrom. The good doctor better have the good sense to stay there until this storm blew over—considering his character, he was not one to go toe-to-toe with a ferocious giant bat.

A sharp _chink!_ sound caught his attention then, causing the vigilante to look for his source. Immediately he spotted the end of a grapple hook, which was soon followed by another one appearing. Someone had finally arrived.

Moments later, Nightwing and Robin appeared over the ledge. Catching sight of the two Bats, the two young man approached them. "We got your call," Nightwing said in greeting. "You have something to help fight against these big ass bats?"

Batman merely nodded. "Once the others arrive, I'll explain."

Thankfully the older male nodded his acceptance. Though they weren't on the best of terms, it was good to see they could cooperate when need be.

Over the course of several minutes, the rest of the vigilantes arrived—the Birds of Prey first, then Huntress pulling up the rear. Satisfied that everyone was here, the Dark Knight prepared to start this meeting when someone beat him to the punch.

"So, anyone mind telling me why we have a sudden mutated bat infestation," Huntress demanded. "Last I checked, there was only one; now there's a colony tearing up downtown."

"We'd like to know the answer to that too," Black Canary added quietly, referencing herself and the Birds.

"For those of you that don't know," Batman began, feeling it was best to explain the situation from the beginning if only to make sure they were all on the same page, "there's a serum that has been developed that's been turning people into the Man-Bats you see now."

"Hold up," Manhunter jumped in. "Those are actually _people_? How?"

The Dark Knight didn't bother to answer that question considering he had already mentioned the how. "I currently have the serum's creator in custody, which means there's someone else out there that has the formula and clearly intends on using it." Tilting his head to Batgirl, that signaled to her to bring the black cases they had carried from the bunker over to him. Doing so, the young girl placed them at his feet.

"Inside these cases are the antidote. I'm not sure if this will be enough, but it should reduce the number of Man-Bats out there." Kneeling down, he opened one of the cases, revealing a few tranquilizer guns with vials of blue liquid—the antidote. Grabbing the guns, he began handing them out, each vigilante accepting them. After that, he took a handful of the vials and began handing them out. "There's enough for five shots each," he continued. "Be careful and don't waste them. I have more antidote being made, but for now we're on a short supply."

"Unreal," Manhunter grumbled. She then glanced to the rest of the group and seemed surprised by the lack of shock around her. "Why isn't anyone weirded out about this? Am I the only one?"

Nightwing was the one to answer her. "If you're going to be staying in Gotham, it's just best you accept it. You'll sleep better."

"We do have a problem though," Black Canary spoke up then, earning herself the attention of the group. "There are a lot of these Man-Bats out there. We ran into them before coming here and they act like wild animals. What's to say some of these things go make a nest somewhere and we don't find them?"

That was a good point. "Our primary objectives are to subdue the ones that are on the attack," Batman answered her. "The ones nesting will be secondary since they're removing themselves from this conflict. I'll take that over one killing people."

"Okay," the blonde vigilante agreed, "but how do we track the others ones? This is a big place for them to run around."

" _I think I can help with that."_

All of the vigilantes' heads jerked up. That immediately told Batman that whomever this voice belonged to was accessing all of their comm links. A sinking sensation filled his gut.

The dark-clad man had gone to great lengths to ensure his communication channels were sealed off from the rest of the world. Even he had difficulty hacking into the signal—a test he had performed once he had put into place his security protocols. If this person had access though, that meant they had been on the channel for quite some time, listening to everything he and his comrades had done.

That was not a good thing.

"Who is this?" the Dark Knight demanded, a hand pressed into the side of his head to better listen to the response. "Identify yourself."

" _I'm just a friend,"_ the voice answered, causing the vigilante to narrow his eyes. There was a scrambler being used, which made gathering clues on this person's identity difficult. Still, the longer they talked, the more intel he could gather on them. _"And I've been keeping up with this crisis so far. I can tell you when and where the Man-Bats are."_

"How?" Huntress pressed.

" _I have access to most of the city's security mainframe. Police dash-cams, intersection cameras, security cams; you name it, I've got it and I can use that to track these things."_

This was no ordinary hacker. It seemed Batman had a follow-up investigation once this situation was resolved. Movement out of the corner of his eye drew his attention; Nightwing and Robin had looked to each other, sharing a look. Did they know something about this?

"Who are you," he repeated then.

" _Can't say. You know better than anyone to protect your identity at all costs."_

"Then what do we call you?"

That caused many heads to snap towards his direction. "You're going to let them help us?" Black Canary asked in bewilderment.

"No choice," the vigilante replied. "They have real time intel and we will be needing that." To be honest, he rather not have to do this, but like the many other times, there wasn't much of a choice.

Of course, this mystery person hadn't heard this exchange. Instead, they seemed stumped. _"Umm, uhhh,"_ they said. Obviously they hadn't thought out an alias before they went started this venture. _"Ohhh, ohhhhhhh. You can call me 'O'."_

Simple, yet left much to be desired. "Fine, O, coordinate with everyone." Then he addressed the others. "Be careful out there. Do not put yourself in a bad situation. Staying alive is the most important thing here.

"Now let's get out there and end this."


	28. Battle for the Night

Battle for the Night

After bumming an earpiece off one of the Birds, Nightwing and Robin were off on their own, armed with an antidote to take down these Man-bat things. At least, Batman claimed this was the antidote. They hadn't seen it work yet and it would be a heck of a time for it to backfire.

Other than that, there was only one other thing on their minds.

"O," Robin stated as the pair traversed over the rooftops. "You think…?"

"She should have come up with a better name," Nightwing grumbled as he leapt off a rooftop without hesitation, landing on the next one without any effort. He waited for his younger partner to catch up before continuing. "Who else do you know who has managed to hack into the mainframe and can monitor practically everything right now? It's Barb, no question."

"What do you think Batman's going to do once he figures it out?" the red-themed vigilante wondered aloud.

"Probably give her the third degree again. Maybe threaten to tell her dad," the older, darker-themed vigilante replied. "Now cut it out. We need to find some bats. Keep your eyes peeled."

"Why not use that earpiece and see if O knows where some's at?" Robin suggested.

"Or we could do that." Thought you were so smart, didn't'cha Robin? Don't get too big for your tights, young man. Raising a gloved hand to his ear, he said, "Hey O. We're on Birch. Where do you need us?"

" _Head two blocks to the east, on McClellen. You'll find what you're looking for._ "

"McClellen, east," he said sharply, taking the lead once more. Behind him, his partner kept pace with him, his game face on.

They found their prey soon enough.

On top of a car, one of the Man-bats was perched on top, a portion of the vehicle's roof ripped off. One of its arms was reaching itself into the car where screams could be heard. High-pitched screams. The kind of screams that belonged to kids.

"Going in, get them to safety." Nightwing didn't wait for any agreement as he leapt off the rooftop, rocketing his way down to the monster below. He gritted his teeth tightly as he managed to nail the giant animal hybrid with both of his feet then jump back off and into a flip as the creature fell back and away from him. Landing on the car roof, he jumped back at the Man-bat, an antidote dispenser in hand.

It was time to see—whoa!

Nightwing tried to slow himself down but was unable to as he was knocked to a side by the Man-bat's swinging arm. It felt like getting hit by a sledgehammer and now he was going in a completely new direction. He tried to flip himself around but only manage to make a mess of things as the pavement greeted his side and he bounced off the rough, flat surface. There was another bounce and then the side of a car made friends with his back.

He was going to feel that in the morning.

Groaning, the young man pushed himself up slowly, glancing down and swearing as he noted the state of the dispenser and how a blue liquid was leaking out of it. That shouldn't be happening, should it? Damn it, it was broke.

Loud thuds reminded him that now was not the time to be in his head. Practically two feet from him was the Man-bat and it was reaching down for him now, snarling with long, vicious-looking fangs looking oh so pleasant. Not.

Suddenly, the monster jerked as a small explosion detonated just above its head. A shrill whistle directed its attention towards Robin who was standing on top of a car.

"Over here! Don't I look tasty!" the masked teen called out.

You gotta be kidding. Still, it was distracting the Man-bat. Time to make up for the lost antidote with this. Getting his feet underneath him, Nightwing pushed upwards and threw himself onto the large, muscled back. With another dispenser in hand, he slammed the thing into the bulging neck, even as it swung its arms wildly, trying to knock him off. The blue liquid slowly vanished until it was all in, and only then did Nightwing push himself away.

This stuff had better work fast.

A long hand with sharp claws swung at him, tearing into a parked car like it was made of aluminum foil, an angry shriek aimed directly at him.

This stuff didn't work fast.

Time for plan B then.

Backing away, he pulled out an eschema stick and held it before him, electricity crackling on its tip. "You want some? Come and get it," he challenged, continuing to put some space between the two of them.

The Man-bat obliged, taking one step forward threateningly before falling to a knee, releasing a guttural moan. Its muscular body trembled as it gripped its own head, almost seeming to shrink in on itself.

Then the hair started to lessen as the bat-like features were overtaken by more human ones. Long brunette hair was soon the only thing that covered anything on the moaning woman's body as she finally collapsed, unable to deal with the trauma of the transformation any longer.

Okay, so the stuff worked, good to know.

"Whoa, that was freaky," Robin remarked, eyes on the woman.

Just as he was about to agree, the sound of bullets hitting next to him sent him diving for cover. "Who the hell's shooting at us?" he demanded as Robin joined him on the deck. Glass rained about them as more bullets tore into the abandoned cars around them.

"Find those punks and give'em what for!" a very human voice called out, followed by the sound of clicking guns.

"O? What's going on?" he hissed, hand on his ear.

" _Those look like cops._ " Even with the distortion to her voice, Barbara sounded just as confused as they felt. " _They…they look like they're gunning for you._ "

Oh great, how perfect.

"What the hell's going on?" Robin asked as the sounds of approaching footsteps drew nearer and nearer.

* * *

" _Heads up everyone, the cops are not friendlies. I have multiple incidents of cops shooting at vigilantes,"_ 'O's' voice poured through the communicator.

"You don't say," Huntress retorted through gritted teeth.

The sound of bullets ricocheting and blowing holes through steel rang out through the night, making it a wonder that anyone could've heard that message. Of course, this mystery hacker had to announce the obvious ten seconds after a small brigade of armed cops had begun emptying their arsenal at her.

Crouching behind a car that was in for a serious insurance claim, Huntress peeked around the vehicle's trunk, only to duck back as a few shots pelted the taillights. Pieces of fiberglass were sent flying as the lights were destroyed.

"I so don't have the time for this," the purple-clad woman muttered under her breath. How had her night come to this? She had been steadfastly grading papers when she had noticed a sudden uptick in honking horns and screeching tires. Looking out her window, she had been stupefied by the sudden appearance of Man-Bats. One costume change later and she had thrown herself out into the night.

"Conner really needs to work on his punctuation," she continued to speak out loud, even as she pulled out a couple handfuls of H-shaped shuriken. Already she could pick out the misuse of commas in her student's short paragraphs, not to mention the run-on sentences. The boy was really trying, but he needed a bit more guidance.

The shooting slowly died off, which prompted the vigilante to prep herself. "Come on out of there," she heard one of the cops order her, which prompted her to snort in response. "You are under arrest for breaking the law!"

Immediately, Huntress dashed forward, emerging from behind the car long enough to thrown her shuriken one fistful at a time. Not even breaking stride, she took cover behind another car. There were multiple gunshots, which were quickly followed by sharp clashes and cries of pain. Again, Huntress peeked around the car, spotting several of the officers rubbing at their hands from where her projectiles had collided. There were even a couple that had the shuriken embedded in their hands.

 _Serves them right._

Again, Huntress pulled out a couple more shuriken, noting she was running a little low. Damn. She needed to restock, or at the very least pick up a few of her discarded ones here. If every cop was after her, she needed a surefire way to disarm them.

Her crossbow was out of the question.

Throwing the H-shaped shuriken, she actually watched them disarm two more cops, curses bursting out of their mouths as they immediately made to nurse their injured hands. Unfortunately, this stand-off wasn't meant to last.

Out of nowhere, one of the Man-Bats swooped by, grabbing one of the cops by his shoulders with its taloned feet. The man screamed as he was carried away, the Man-Bat flying higher and higher. Then, for whatever reason, the creature released its hold, letting the cop fly face first into the side of a building. With sickening horror, Huntress watched the man plummet a good three stories down to the ground, where he landed with a sickening splat.

It would've been easy to be lost in that bad scene, but Huntress was a professional. She hadn't failed to notice the Man-Bat had shot up in the air the moment it had let go of its victim, soaring over the building. The cop must've been too heavy for it to carry over, so it had dumped its cargo—a totally instinctive move.

However, this had earned the entire attention of the GCPD. "It got Frank!" one of them shouted before the remaining armed cops took aim. The Man-Bat hadn't vacated the premises, instead swooping around as it came back around.

"Oh Hell," Huntress groaned. These cops were going to ice that thing, not even knowing it was an actual human being. Nevermind they had been trying to kill her too, now she had to stop them and protect that creature.

The glamour of being a vigilante.

Immediately, Huntress shot out, racing towards the cops. With practiced ease she pulled out her bo staff, hitting the switch that caused the ends to extend out. Not even bothering to twirl the staff, her go-to warm-up, she instead used the staff as a bat and swung it into the face of the nearest cop. The blow knocked him right off his feet, sending him crashing down onto the ground unconscious. A step forward and the purple-clad woman crouched down as she did a backswing, knocking out the legs of the next cop as her weapon collided with the back of his knees.

Letting out a cry of surprise, the man dropped to the ground, barely landing when Huntress' foot kicked him against the side of his face, knocking him out as well. That had eliminated the armed cops. All that was left was six more injured ones.

At least, that's what she thought until she noticed they were now running as fast as their legs could carry them. As intimidating as she thought she was, the purple-clad vigilante knew there was something else up. Swinging herself around, she barely got her bo staff in time as the Man-Bat ran into her. Pressing the staff up against its mouth, Huntress stared as sharp fangs were held at bay, drool dripping down onto her.

 _Gross._

Hitting the ground, Huntress grunted, but held her defense even as the monster above her strained to take a bite out of her. In her current position, there was no way she could hold on while she grabbed her tranq gun without being seriously hurt. Gritting her teeth, she continued to hold on even as the Man-Bat's mouth slide from side to side against her staff.

Wait, she could use that. Slowly, Huntress began lowering one end of her staff, watching carefully for the Man-Bat to slide in that direction, and finding it to be so. She had her window. Dropping that one side until it cracked against the pavement, she quickly reached to her belt and pulled out the tranq gun. Pressing it against the inner elbow, she injected the antidote, which caused the Man-Bat to instantly pull back, screeching from pain or shock, she wasn't sure.

Dropping the gun, Huntress pulled her legs up to her chest before she lashed out with them, her feet slamming into the creature's chest and pushing it back further from her. Her momentum from that move allowed her to flip onto her feet, holding her bo staff in front of her for protection.

Was it her imagination or was the Man-Bat grimacing? Huntress wasn't sure, but she thought it was actually making a facial expression that didn't cry out for blood. Then, she saw the changes. The brown hair receded, the wings folded back into its arms, muscle mass was lost, and eventually an actual human being was standing where the Man-Bat had been.

Then the person dropped to the ground unconscious.

"That's one down," Huntress muttered. "Only a hundred left."

* * *

"Uhh, Harper? I think you need to see this?"

"Not now, Cullen," Harper called back, scribbling her pencil on what was supposed to be her homework. She meant supposed considering the worksheet was a joke. She had studied these problems a couple years ago, but apparently the teacher felt like the first three months of school were a review period.

"No, Sis, I really think you need to."

The girl blew a strand of her purple hair out of her face in annoyance. Really, couldn't her brother bother her some other time? "Fine, just make it quick."

Getting up from the rickety chair at their dinner table, Harper walked over to her brother, who was nearly pressed up against the glass of their dirty window. One of these days they needed to clean it, but neither one of them cared enough to do it.

"Okay, what was so important you had to pull me away from my homework?"

Cullen merely pointed a finger to the window. "That."

Feeling even more annoyed, Harper looked out the window, only to have her eyes nearly bulge out of her head.

She had heard about these so-called "Man-Bats." The internet had gone crazy about them. Harper largely ignored the news in favor of a project she had been working on. To actually see Man-Bat after Man-Bat fluttering around outside her apartment window…well…suddenly she found herself believing in them.

"Umm, Cullen," the purple-haired girl said as she slowly took a step away from the window. "I think we should get away from the window."

"Why?" her brother asked, fixated on the sight before him.

There wasn't any chance to reply. In fact, the perfect answer came in the form of a Man-Bat suddenly slamming its face right onto their window, mouth gaping wide and screaming at them.

"Get away from the window!" Harper screamed, even as her brother shouted in surprise, jumping backwards only to fall flat on his butt. Even worse, the scary-ass bat pulled an arm back and then slammed it against the glass, shattering it.

"Cullen! Run!" Harper screamed, even as she grabbed him by his arm and dragged him away. To Cullen's credit, he managed to get his legs under him and stumbled his way behind her. Reaching the door to her bedroom, Harper pulled him in after her, slamming the door shut behind him and locking it.

"Harper, I don't think that's going to freaking hold!" Cullen cried out as he shot towards the wall furthest from the door. "Why didn't we get _out_ of the apartment?"

That was a really good question and one Harper would've answered had the door suddenly not crack, the result of the monster on the other side ramming against it. Immediately, the purple-haired girl jerked away from the door before she spun around and scrambled towards her unmade bed. Diving to the floor, she shot her hands underneath it and pulled out a white cardboard box.

Pulling the lid off, even as the door broke more behind her, Harper stared at the long shaft of the weapon within. It was incomplete considering one side of the barrel was missing, revealing all of the inner workings of the device. It was shaped much like a rifle, with a handle, trigger, and sights.

Still, this baby wasn't powered by gunpowder or bullets. "Cullen," she said calmly, even as she heard the wood of the door and doorframe snap. "Next to you on the wall, there's a battery pack. I need you to give it to me."

Cullen jerk his head to a side, seeing the pack in the wall socket. Clumsily he grabbed at it and nearly tore it off the wall. He then tossed it to her, Harper catching it before she gently slid it into the base of the handle.

At the end of the shaft was a switch. Flicking it, Harper could hear a low hum as the weapon turned on. Though incomplete, that was a good sign. She had been working on this baby for quite some time. Aside from that one hiccup where some kid at school tried to bust her—as if she wouldn't have covered her butt already—getting the parts had been a cinch. Who would've thought a high school shop classroom would've had such useful parts lying around?

That was when the door finally gave in, shattering into a thousand pieces. Whipping around, Harper pointed the weapon at the terrifying Man-Bat as it shoved its way through the fractured doorframe. With one hand holding up the barrel and the other wrapped around the handle, she pointed the gun right at the monster and squeezed the trigger.

What was best described as a large bolt of electricity fired from the barrel. The Man-Bat had no time to dodge as the blast hit it on the chest. A high-pitch shriek screamed from its mouth as its body seized. Harper didn't release the trigger, allowing more and more electricity to fire. It wasn't until she noticed smoke beginning to waft from the monster's body that she finally let go.

Though this bat-creature had been grey to start with, it was now a rather charred black color. In fact, the smell of burnt hair and flesh filled the girl's nose. The Man-Bat, on the other hand, seemed dazed, wobbling back and forth on its feet.

Then it fell over backwards, landing hard on its back on the floor. It twitched every so often, but otherwise didn't move.

"Harper," Cullen's voice weakly spoke up. "What the hell did you do to it?"

"Oh, just a little something I made for home defense," she replied coolly. This little gun she had was basically a stun gun on steroids; a taser with about a hundred times the power. Of course there were settings…would be settings, but considering there was a monster just outside of her room, the power setting mattered very little at the moment.

She'd have to tinker with it later.

* * *

As he finished off another batch of the antidote, Kirk wiped the sweat off his forehead. Nonstop he had been working, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that there were dozens upon dozens of…of Man-bats in the city. How could this be? And how did his father become one?

As he had worked, he had wracked his brain trying to figure out the mystery. Who would do such a thing? Why create so many and then throw them out into the city? What was the purpose? It was…it was all senseless!

Of the people he could think of, none of them came off as senseless. Even if somehow, miraculously, it was his father behind this, why give himself the mutagen? He was a man that needed control, of everything. The Man-bat brought out the most primal, uncontrollable behavior one could imagine. At least, that had been what he had been told about it so far.

Add to the fact he didn't have any memories of his times as one, that was the complete opposite of control. Could it have been Arthur? Arthur whose career was destroyed due to his duplicity and Lincoln March's thorough termination? He had worked with that man for years! And on top of that _he didn't know the formula_. Not to the degree that Francine and himself did.

Francine could not be involved with this at all. She had wanted to help him, even went to Batman to do so.

Which left only one person who knew about the project who was not involved with it at all or even had a background in chemistry. That especially didn't make sense. Dr. Erie had been a lifesaver for him, meeting with him at the last moment and helping to manage his anxieties and stress. Why would he be behind something like this?

Except…there was a blank spot. Kirk remembered visiting him a few days ago but he couldn't remember anything about the session other than leaving it really, really relaxed. What had happened during that session? Why couldn't he remember? Something was funny about it, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

Focus Kirk. Now was not the time. You had something important you needed to do.

Thanks to all this equipment and materials, Kirk could make as much of the antidote as he wanted. With that said, there were other chemicals that he had access to, all thanks to Batman. He had to have access to them in order to create the antidote in the first place.

Some of them happened to be the key ingredients for the mutagen.

While whipping up the latest batch of the anti-mutagen, Kirk had done the unthinkable and recreated the mutagen himself. Only a little bit, though. Enough for one injection. It was easy enough to get it into one of the injection guns he had swiped without notice.

Should he do this? Would he really help out there?

Recalling the monster that his father had finally become steeled his resolve.

Yes. It was about time the two of them had a father-son talk. One that was overdue. And since the probability was high that the elder Langstrom wouldn't understand or comprehend language anymore, something else would be needed.

Jabbing the needle into his leg, he pressed on trigger and sent the mutagen on a course through his blood vessels. It would take some time for it to overcome the antidote that was in his system already, so a transformation wasn't immanent. There was also his insight into the process itself that would most likely speed it up.

Time to leave then. Time to let his anxieties take hold of him. Time to walk out into this disaster of his own making.

Time to grasp onto his awakened dark side, and allow its shriek into the night.

* * *

This was just his lucky night, wasn't it? First Thorne calls him up, then informs him about having some very sensitive dirt on him, next cuts a deal for some incriminating books, and now as the attorney was driving through downtown Gotham, a swarm of bat creatures flew down to attack everything that moved.

That included his car.

"Shit!" he swore as he swerved out of the way of one of them that tried to dive bomb him. "Where the hell these things come from?" A honking car honk reminded him he wasn't the only person on the road and now he was swerving out of another car's way.

Keep control, Harvey. Step on the gas pedal and see if you couldn't outrun them.

Not a bad idea except up ahead he could see the beginning of a jam. Some people couldn't drive with bat monsters in the sky, it seemed. And of course it had to block off the most direct route to Thorne. Guess this was why side streets were invented.

Ignoring the fact that there was someone in the next lane, Harvey gunned it and made a sharp turn, probably breaking a few traffic laws as he cut them off and drove down the intersecting street. Okay, another left he'd be getting back in the right direction. And up ahead, it figures that light wouldn't be working with him.

Oh well, what were a few more laws, right? They'd be misdemeanors at best.

Giving a sigh of relief as he made the turn, other cars screeching as they tried not to hit him, Harvey continued on his way down a less traveled road. This ought to speed things up a bit.

A thump on the roof of his car said otherwise.

"Please don't tell me," he muttered to himself.

Confirmation of his worst fear came when that ugly mug peaked out in front of the windshield, upside down, of course, and making eye contact with him.

"I am not in the mood for this shit," he growled as he tried to shake the thing off, jerking the steering wheel left to right. Sharp claws poked through the roof, telling the harassed man that his rider was not letting go anytime soon.

Couldn't this thing bother somebody else?

A sharp car horn blared, Harvey slamming down on the accelerator as headlights flashed from the side window. How he wasn't hit, he didn't know, but because he was still swerving, the DA found himself losing control. Going for the brake, he tried to slow the vehicle down, the wheels skidding against pavement. His hands tightened against the steering wheel, his teeth clenched tightly as he desperately tried to come to a stop.

Then came the pole.

That was followed by the whiteness of the airbag exploding out of the steering wheel, shoving him back into his seat for a brief few seconds until deflating. A light, smoky haze filled the inside of the car, Harvey moaning as he shoved open the driver side door. A daze fell upon him as he robotically pulled himself out, resting against the side of the car as his mind tried to deal with the blunt trauma his body had experienced.

Everything was quiet, only sounds of his breathes giving any indication that he was still alive. Harvey's head fell back, allowing him to look straight up at the night sky. A sound from down the street drew his attention, his head rolling to his right as he spotted the giant bat that was picking itself up further down the street.

That certainly snapped him out of his torpor. He needed to get out of here, now and—the books! Everything was coming at him right now, adding on to the immense stress he felt. Pulling himself back into the car, he searched for his briefcase.

Where was it, where was it? It should have been on the seat—it wasn't on the seat. Where was—floor! There! He grabbed at the handle and pulled it out from the small alcove it had slid or fallen into. In his haste, he ran it against everything from the seats to the center console to the dash and it seemed like it was doing everything in its power to slow him down!

Practically falling on his ass, Harvey finally managed to get out of the car, case in hand. Shooting a look down the street, he could see the monster perk up, spotting him. Oh Goddamn it!

Scrambling to his feet he began to run for his life.

* * *

This literally stunk.

Crouching behind a dumpster in an alley, Black Canary couldn't help but wrinkle her nose as the odor of yesterday's leftovers fermented in the giant green receptacle. It was ripe—very ripe. And on top of that, there were police officers shooting at her.

Beside her was Manhunter and Katana, each crouched down as bullets banged off the dumpster. While Katana was calm and collect, there was a nervous energy coming off of Manhunter. She wasn't used to being pinned down—not that the Birds of Prey normally were—and the situation was making her antsy.

And on top of it all, the shrieking of Man-Bats closing in on their location just added everything up into one giant snafu.

"Can't you use your Canary Cry on them?" Manhunter suggested, shifting her weight on her bent legs. "That should knock them out."

"Not necessarily," the blonde replied. "If I'm not careful, I might do more serious damage, like shattering their skulls."

"They're trying to kill us! I'm not seeing many alternatives here!"

Dear Lord, this conversation again? No wonder Huntress left them if it kept coming up like this. "We just need to disarm them before they can kill us or those Man-Bats." Looking to Katana, she said, "Do you think you can do that, Katana?"

The Asian woman nodded sharply. "Need distraction," she replied.

"I think we can come up with something." Eyes darting upward, the blonde vigilante cursed under her breath. She could make out the silhouettes of the Man-Bats above them, which undoubtedly would draw some of the gunfire away from them.

Unfortunately, that increased the chances the cops could kill them, which wasn't a scenario she wanted to play out. Looking back to her comrades, she was slightly startled that Katana was no longer there. She'd worry about that later, for now they needed to stop this firefight.

Naturally, that's when Manhunter came up with something.

Hefting up her staff, she held one end of it out in front of her. "I think if I hit one of the cars, I can catch them off guard," the brunette woman spoke out loud.

 _And possibly kill whoever is inside the car,_ Black Canary responded in her head. Yet, there weren't a whole lot of options here. "Aim for an empty one," she ordered. "Once you do, we need to take down the Man-Bats. We just need to get them within range of my Canary Cry and then we can hit them with the antidote."

"Roger." Manhunter then leaned out from the cover of the dumpster, holding her staff up in front of her. Less than a moment later, she fired a blast from her staff, which raced towards one of the police cruisers, hitting it right on the hood—and subsequently the engine. An explosion blasted out, sending a shockwave that knocked several of the armed cops off their feet and sent the partially destroyed car flipping up into the air. It came down seconds later, landing on its roof, flames dancing all over it.

Without a word, Black Canary and Manhunter shot out from their cover, racing out of the alleyway. Despite the destruction, no one seemed to be hurt, though the cops that had been closest to the explosion were clearly unconscious.

"Get off your asses!" someone shouted, a cop with a moustache if Black Canary wasn't mistaken. "They're out in the open! Fire!"

Splitting up, Black Canary took cover behind a nearby mailbox, Manhunter darting behind a car. Though a few gunshots were made, there weren't nearly as many as before.

Of course, that's when Katana made her reappearance.

Dropping out of the sky, the red-and-yellow vigilante landed between two cops. In a flash her sword swung out, the barrels of the policemen's guns falling off a moment later. Without hesitating, Katana sent a kick right into one man's stomach, knocking him backwards. Holding her one-legged pose, her extended leg then snapped to a side, hitting the other cop in his side and sending him stumbling.

Leaping upward, Katana then spun in midair before she lashed out with her other leg, delivering a vicious kick to the side of the stumbling cop's head, effectively knocking him out cold before he even landed on the pavement.

Touching down on the ground, Katana then shot towards another cop, her sword slicing off the gun barrel before she dispatched of the officer. Naturally this began drawing the attention of the other cops.

"Shoot that fucking ninja!" the moustached cop shouted even as he turned his weapon to do as he ordered.

" _SSSKKKKRRRRRIIIIIEEEEEE!"_

Out of nowhere, two Man-Bat's swooped. Almost as if they were on the Birds of Prey's side, they each grabbed a policeman by their shoulders with their feet and hauled them off into the air. One Man-Bat didn't get as good of a grip though, and its prey slipped out of its taloned clutches, the man screaming as he fell back to the ground. Wincing at the landing, she kept an eye on the man, but it quickly became apparent he wasn't getting back up. Eyes shooting upward, she saw the Man-Bat making a U-turn as he began to glide back towards the fallen officer.

"Manhunter!" Black Canary shouted before she took off running towards approaching Man-Bat. She really hoped her comrade would follow her, but she wasn't going to assume. All that mattered was saving that man's life from becoming bat guano.

As she drew closer to the victim—and subsequently so did the Man-Bat—Black Canary sucked in her breath before releasing her Canary Cry. It was a short burst, not nearly as long as the one she had used on that group of Man-Bats previously, but it did its job in knocking the approaching Man-Bat right out of the air, the creature crashing hard on the pavement.

That was when Manhunter shot by the blonde, her airgun in hand. Reaching the Man-Bat, she jumped right on top of it and pressed the gun up against its neck, injecting the antidote an instant later.

And shortly after that a loud scream rang out, causing Black Canary to jerk her head to a side just in time to see the other Man-Bat victim fall out of the sky and hit the ground with a sickening _splat!_ Staring at the sight for a moment, Black Canary could only feel nausea well up in her stomach, threatening to overwhelm her.

"The freaks are over there!"

Whipping her head around, her blonde hair flying out until it poured over one of her shoulders, the vigilante spotted the other officers turning to look her way. One officer even had his gun raised and was undoubtedly about to fire.

Then Katana rushed him from a side, her sword sheath in one hand, the sword in the other. With her sheath she swung it low, knocking the shooter's legs out from under him at the knees. Swinging the sheath wide and then up, Katana then brought it down, clubbing the man in the face in midair and knocking him unconscious before she darted off again.

This…this was enough.

Sucking in as much air as she could, Black Canary then unleashed a longer, louder Canary Cry. The glass on the police cruisers immediately cracked, some of which completely shattered. Police officers cried out, their pained screams drowned out by the Canary Cry, but rendering them helpless.

Out of the corner of her eye, the remaining Man-Bat soared through the air until he crashed headfirst into the windshield of one of the cop cars, shattering the window as it went limp.

The blonde vigilante took that as a sign to stop her Canary Cry, which she did. Immediately she took off running towards the bat-creature, leaping up on the hood next to it as she pulled out her airgun. Pressing it against the monster's neck, she injected the antidote into it. Taking a moment to stare at it, she then looked up to see many of the police officers lying on the ground, cradling their heads.

It was time to neutralize their threat.

* * *

The Man-Bat snarled and hissed, glaring at Batman as it shifted its body to make itself appear bigger. It was an animalistic behavior meant to frighten off predators. That this science-twisted creature viewed him as a threat was rather flattering because of the differences between their strength, speed, and stamina.

Batman edged himself sideways as the gravel from the roof crunched beneath his feet, keeping the Man-Bat's attention solely on him. Behind it was Batgirl, who was slowly creeping up on the monster, antidote in hand. Jerking to one side and back, the vigilante feinted, making sure that the Man-Bat was paying attention.

It was, at least until its body stiffened. Then out of nowhere it swung around, screaming at Batgirl who stopped in her approach.

God damn it.

For a moment Batgirl hesitated, something she was not known for. The Dark Knight had seen the young girl react to multiple unexpected situations, picking a course of action without a second thought, and following through. Instead she stayed still, looking up at the looming Man-Bat.

The bat-creature charged then, causing Batgirl to retreat backwards. Swinging its arms back and forth, the Man-Bat slashed at it with its clawed hands, each swing coming closer and closer to the young girl.

When one swipe came too close, Batgirl ducked down to avoid the blow. That left her wide open for the Man-Bat to attack with its feet, kicking her with its foot and sending her careening backwards.

Running, Batman closed the distance between his protégé and the monster. Pulling out a few smoke pellets from his belt, he threw them at the opening space between Batgirl and the Man-Bat, a large cloud of white smoke immediately filling the area. This caused the Man-Bat to shriek in surprise, shuffling back a step in response.

A moment later and Batman leapt into the air, ramming into the Man-Bat's side, causing it to stumble as he wrapped his arms around its neck. As the monster's body shifted against him, Batman found himself sliding towards its back. Teeth gritted, he released his hold with one hand and reached to his belt, pulling out his tranquilizer gun. Shoving up into the Man-Bat's neck, he squeezed the trigger and injected the blue antidote into the bat-creature, another loud scream ringing out.

The Man-Bat began to struggle then, thrashing its body from side to side. Batman tightened his hold in response, hanging out despite the Man-Bat's best efforts to buck him off. It was because of this he began to notice its body begin the shrink, changing back into the person it used to be. Before long, Batman was standing on the roof, holding onto an unconscious woman. Slowly, he lowered her down until she was lying on the gravel.

"Batgirl," he called out lowly. Soon enough, Batgirl approached him, coming to a stop next to the dark-clad man. "You're still struggling."

She nodded.

"Can't read its body language?"

Another nod.

The taste of bile rose into Batman's mouth, causing him to swallow it back. The acidity of it made him wrinkle his nose. Batgirl's struggles were beginning to worry him. Though her encounters with the Man-Bats hadn't been many, she was still hesitating, which was completely unlike her. It was as if with every surprise she tried to search for more tells and failed. At this rate, she wasn't going to be of any help.

Something had to change.

If reading her opponent wasn't working, then they had to use a different tactic. It wasn't one the Dark Knight wanted to do, but in order to keep the young girl alive, it was something he'd have to give in to. "You're trying to read too much into their movements. Don't." He then sighed. "These things are acting on instinct, so that makes them too unpredictable. You're going to have to follow your instincts, let your training take over. Understand?"

There was a moment were Batgirl stared at him before she slowly nodded her understanding. Batman had to fight back the grimace that was working its way onto his face. He could only imagine the sort of Talon training that would take over. It would be lethal if they weren't careful. Though the Man-Bats had proven to be able to take on physical damage, there was only so much they could take at softer, vital areas.

Hopefully this wasn't a mistake.

* * *

"I really don't know why I'm surprised anymore," Bullock muttered. He veered the patrol car around abandoned vehicles and the occasional bystander who was too stupid to, oh he didn't know, stay inside while a flock of bats crashed the wild party that was Gotham.

What was it with people and camera phones and trying to record every little detail of their lives? Hadn't they heard of survival instincts before?

"You and me both, Harvey," Montoya agreed.

"Can't say it's ever boring," he grumbled.

"Uh huh."

"Nice pep talk, let's do it again some time," he quipped as he made a sharp turn. Soon after, he braked and brought the car to a stop. Up ahead he could see other cop cars, a few boys in blue shooting at something. Hard to tell what from here.

"Hope you're armed. We're going in," Bullock stated as he shoved opened the door and left the vehicle, making his way over to where all the action was.

Choosing to bring with him a shotgun, his department-issued pistol safe and snug in its holster, Bullock kept the barrel of the weapon pointed at the street, moving quickly with his body slouched and head ducked so as to not endanger himself. With all that gunfire, he did not want to make a target of himself.

The lieutenant's eyes scanned around for any sign of those freaking bats, but much to his surprise he didn't see one. Yet his fellow cops were still shooting like no tomorrow. What was up?

"Hey! Hey!" he called out to one of the officers. Maybe it was because they guy was still firing off several rounds but the jerk didn't even look over at him. It was like he was being ignored. "What the hell you guys shooting at, huh? Answer me!"

Nothing. Great. Now when they needed to talk with one another, they weren't. Freaking fantastic.

Movement from the corner of his eyes caused him to fall to his knees and raise his weapon up. Was it one of the bats? No wait, something dark was jumping and flipping around cars. Looked kind of familiar…no it didn't. Whatever, he'd shoot it down first and ask questions later.

Now that he was looking for it, when it made an appearance, Bullock's eyes widened in shock. Though wearing a dark outfit, the light from a streetlight showed what it really was, and Bullock would be damned if it didn't recognize it as human. Not a giant bat, a human.

And the shooting suddenly intensified as soon as the guy showed himself.

Looking at the other officers, it all came together for Bullock. They weren't trying to shoot down one of those bats, the things that were attacking the city right now. They were trying to shoot at a person who didn't look that much of a threat. But…why? He couldn't wrap his mind around it.

"Are they trying to kill him?" Montoya yelled into his ear, trying to be heard around all the noise.

"I think so," he yelled back.

"I think he's one of those vigilantes. He certainly looks the part," Montoya continued loudly. "Wait, there's another one!" A swear in Spanish came out of her. At least, Bullock thought it was a swear because it sounded like one. "They almost took his head off! I think they're trying to kill them!"

Even if that wasn't the case, the mere idea made the lieutenant's blood run cold. Even if those mask-wearing crazies were breaking the law, they didn't deserve to get shot and killed for it. Punched, maybe a wallop to the head, but not an insane amount of lead fired into their bodies.

"C'mon you little punk! Come out where we can see you!" a nearby cop shouted. "These aren't your streets anymore!"

Shouldn't there be an option to, you know, give up? Surrender? Come out with hands behind their heads? Where was all that?

"Hold your fire!" Bullock roared as the gunfire reached a lull.

The officer who had shouted, and had obviously heard him, shot him a look of disgust, one that the heft lieutenant knew only too well. "Screw you, Bullock! We're doing what needs to be done, what Gordon should've done a long time ago! We're getting these punks off the streets even if it has to be in body bags—there!"

The gunfire intensified, a specific car being decimated with all the bullets being poured into it. There weren't any windows or a windshield on it anymore. There were so many holes in it that you'd have to be crazy to what to keep using it as cover.

The vigilante hiding behind it had the same idea and tried to escape, most likely to another, less bullet-riddled vehicle. However, he was now in the open and practically target practice.

The cop who had yelled at him moved his lips, like he was saying something. The sound of guns firing covered it up, but Bullock didn't need to hear him to know what he said.

"Got ya now bitch."

Bullock acted.

Raising his shotgun up, he charged at the officer, slamming the butt end of the weapon into the side of the cop's head. With the rest of his body pushing forward, he knocked the schmuck over and onto the ground, but he wasn't done yet. He brought the butt end down on the bastard's face, knocking him out and sending him to lala land.

Quickly looking up, he took a head count and counted five others. No more time to think about it. He charged forward, knocking their guns to a side, punching and knocking their lights out one by one. And he wasn't gentle about it either.

"What the hell are you—" BAM!

"You fucker! Wha—" WHACK!

"Son of—" WHAM!

In less than a minute, the pissed off lieutenant had taken down three armed-to-the-teeth law officers with nothing but his fists and a shotgun, said shotgun being used more like a makeshift club than an actual gun. That left two…that Montoya had taken care of, covering his back so that he himself wasn't shot.

Good cop, that.

Breathing heavily, he glared over where he had seen the two vigilantes last and yelled out, "You can come out now! Get your scrawny asses over here!" The lack of anything happening only pissed him off more. "I mean it! No one still standing's gonna shoot you, even if I really want to right now! Show your damn faces already!"

"Think they slipped out while we were busy?" Montoya suggested, her eyes still searching for the idiots and her hands still on her gun. Smart lady, that.

Then two hands raised up from behind a car, followed by the rest of the vigilante. Even from this distance, Bullock could tell it was a he, and that he was a pipsqueak. And what was up with all the red? Stood out more than hid.

"What are you, a kid? What do you think you're doing out here?" Bullock demanded as he stomped his way over. "I don't know if you have a pair of eyes but it's dangerous out here!"

"No kidding," quipped the pipsqueak.

Rolling his eyes, the overweight man snapped, "Put your hands down already. I'd say behind your back but I'm not thinking straight right now." Snapping his head to the side, he glared at the other one that had only now decided to come out too.

Then it all clicked together.

"I know you. What are you doing still out here?" He'd seen the tall one before, alright. Couldn't recall exactly when right now but damn did he recognize him. Tall, dark, and capeless. And he was holding two sticks, kinda looked like batons. Oh yeah, he remembered this one now.

"Trying to save the day," the tall one deadpanned. "And we were starting out good until your boys showed up and started shooting at us."

"I bet." Bullock spit out a wad of spit out in contempt.

"Seriously. Did you know those Man-bats are people?" the tall one shot back at him.

"Man-bats?"

"The giant bat monsters busy attacking Gotham," the pipsqueak explained. "We got one right here. Or, she used to be one."

Bullock followed where the pipsqueak was gesturing and found a half-naked lady on the ground, unconscious. Then, he looked back up at the pipsqueak. Then to the tall one. Then back to Pipsqueak.

"You're telling me these things are people?" Skeptical though he sounded, he was having a problem wrapping his head around this one.

"Science gone wrong. A guy came up with some crazy stuff that changes people into bat monsters. That whole thing," the tall smart-alec supplied. "We have an antidote on us and we're trying to—"

"An antidote? Where from?" Bullock cut in.

"Who do you think?" the smart-alec retorted.

There were a series of guesses running through the lieutenant's head but he only needed one. "The Bat-freak's on the case?"

"Yeah, so let us go so that we can save some lives out there," Pipsqueak argued.

"Why don't you let me have that antidote and I'll handle it from here?" he shot back.

"Can you get close enough to stick this into them?" Smart-alec replied, holding up a smart, weird gun-thing. Looked like there was a small bottle stuck in it with some blue liquid in it. "We got this one. We're going to go try to help as many as we can before they kill more people or get killed by the cops. And we're going to do it whether you like it or not. So let us go?"

"I should take you in in cuffs, asshole," Bullock growled. "That would be the better thing to do. That way you two morons won't risk getting yourselves capped by some paranoid cop. They're aiming for you guys too, not just these Man-bats. They can't kill ya if you're in a holding cell."

"But they're not going to save any lives." Smart-alec was going to follow this to the end, wasn't he?

"Think I don't know that? Bad shit happens to good people sometimes. It's a fact of life." Didn't mean anybody had to like it, though. "Right now I just knocked out a bunch of guys I have to work with. They are going to be pissed at me when they wake up. So, I'm going to look away and you two geniuses better be gone when I look back. Find some place to hide and wait for this to blow over. You get me?"

Smart-alec looked like he was going to say something, but Pipsqueak beat him to it. "We understand."

"And stay off the streets while you're at it," he added as he stomped away. Montoya was giving him a look, one he couldn't really read at the moment but he didn't care what it was about.

Those idiots were two kids trying to play hero and just had a rude awakening. They didn't deserve to get killed. So he'd give them this one time. Next time, he wouldn't be so nice and they would both be taken downtown. Alive.

Because they were better than this. They, the police, needed to be better.

* * *

She was getting better.

The place was an open construction site, not all that dissimilar from the one the GCPD had cornered them. Two unconscious people lay on the floor, former Man-Bats that had been injected with the antidote.

Batgirl was backing away, again like one of her previous encounters with the Man-Bats. This time, however, this was a conscious choice, not one forced by her foe.

Batman crouched on the girder above the two, watching with a critical eye. As Batgirl withdrew backwards, the Man-Bat was thrashing its winged arms, trying to hit her. Its grunts were getting more and more fatigued with every swing it made, never once closing the distance between it and the young vigilante.

However, this one seemed to be different from the other Man-Bats. For one, its coat was grey; secondly, it seemed bigger, its chest more barrel-shaped. Its frame was designed for something, that much Batman was certain.

As if to prove him right, the Man-Bat stopped suddenly, Batgirl following suit. The Man-Bat seemed to arch its back, leaning its head back as its chest expanded. Then it thrust its head forward and opened its mouth, unleashing a large stream of flames at Batgirl.

That was telling. This was not Kirk Langstrom's work, that was for certain. He had only made one strain of his mutagen; someone else had gotten their hands on his formula and had made alterations. While many of the Man-Bats were similar to Langstrom's, there were some that were proving to be very different. Once this night was over, Batman was going to hunt whoever was responsible for this down.

In the meantime, Batgirl darted to a side, keeping low as she avoided the flames. Her lithe body twisted as she swung a leg up, her foot kicking the back of the Man-Bat's knee, causing it to buckle. In response, the Man-Bat dropped to a knee, its head tilting up as it fired its flames up into the air harmlessly.

Then the flames stopped, replaced by a very familiar shriek. Still, Batgirl wasn't finished. Getting her footing, she slid behind the creature before leaping at it. Her hands grabbed onto its ears as she extended a leg in front of her, keeping it bent at the knee. In one smooth movement, she pulled the giant bat's head as her knee rammed into the back of its neck.

On a normal person, that move would've broken the spine. However, because this creature was more monster than man, it could take the dangerous blow, though it was definitely going to feel it in the morning.

Pushing back off of it, Batgirl planted her feet on the floor, just as the Man-Bat dropped forward. It used it winged arms to brace itself, making gasping sounds as it tried to recover from the painful blow it had suffered.

That was the opening he needed. Leaning forward, Batman dropped off the girder, using his cape to glide towards the giant bat. Just before he reached it, he let go of the cape, landing right on top of its back. Quickly, he pressed the tranquilizer gun against its shoulder and injected the antidote. Leaping off, he avoided the sudden thrashing moves the Man-Bat began to make. However, unlike the other transformation, this one occurred more quickly. There was no need to wait as a man emerged from the hair and monstrous features.

Batman promptly ignored the rest of it. See one person collapse unconscious after de-transforming from a giant bat, you've seen them all. There were more pressing matters.

Moving over to Batgirl, he gave her a stern look. "Careful with blows to the neck," he instructed. "I know these Man-Bats can take that sort of blow, but always remember that they're not all the same. Just because one can doesn't mean they all can."

Batgirl nodded sharply her acceptance of his critique. Faintly, Batman wondered if he needed to be telling her these things anymore. She wasn't as reluctant to accept his teachings and was steadily taking them to heart. Perhaps he needed to give her more credit.

" _SSSSSKKKKKKRRRRRRAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"_

Batman jerked his head around. A figure flew by the steel frame of the unfinished building, but he couldn't make out what it was. The roar though, he recalled it quite easily.

And then it appeared. Charging in, the large Man-Bat from the homeless shelter closed the distance between it and Batman, not bothering to flap its wings as it soared. It led with its mouth wide open, revealing its large, sharp fangs.

Immediately, the vigilante pushed Batgirl away before he dove to a side, the giant bat zooming by a second later. Going into a roll, Batman ended up on his feet, facing the monster as it flared its wings out, stopping its flying as it landed.

"Stay back," he ordered his protégé. "This one's mine."

" _SSSSSKKKKKKRRRRRAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"_ the Man-Bat bellowed before it began running at the Dark Knight. Batgirl pulled away, something Batman saw out of the corner of his eye. Reaching to his belt, he pulled out a flashbang grenade, holding it tightly as he held his ground.

At the last moment, the dark-clad man tossed the grenade towards the rushing Man-Bat. He made sure to put it up high, right where it would collide with the creature's face. He was somewhat surprised when the monster caught the grenade with its mouth, its teeth crunching down on it.

That's when the flashbang grenade detonated. Because of where it was, the thunderous boom rattled through the Man-Bat's skull, the flash from the phosphorus burning the inside of its mouth. A wild scream rang out as the Man-Bat began to stumble and then trip, crashing to the floor and skidding on it until it came to a stop.

Immediately, the electrified brass knuckles found their way onto Batman's hands. As the bolts of electricity danced over his clenched fist, he rushed it and grabbed the back of its head by its fur. Pulling the head up, he then slammed his fist against the side of the Man-Bat's face.

Over and over, he delivered punch after punch, causing cries of pain from the creature after each blow. Then, as sudden as he started, he jumped back, just as the Man-Bat lashed out with its arm.

Looking towards him, the giant bat snarled at him before it pushed itself up. It tried to take a step, but it was clear its balance was still off-kilter as it stumbled. The necktie still wrapped around its neck waved about, adding some surreality to the scene.

It was because of this that Batman even bothered to go on the offensive again. Closing in quickly, he threw several more punches into the Man-Bat's unguarded abdomen, pounding at the same spot, which caused the creature to stumble backwards in response.

Instinctively, Batman ducked down, just as the Man-Bat tried to retaliate but swinging one of its clawed hands at him. This left another wide-open strike point on its side. With his raised fist, he threw it wide before arching it inward, delivering a blow just below the monster's crossed arm. The target was just below the armpit, right above where the most visible rib protected the lungs.

A yelp actually escaped the large Man-Bat's voice, its body jerking away from the punishing hit. It even let out a weak whine, its chest expanding and contracting rapidly. It seemed he had been successful in hitting the pressure point there; the force of the blow had affected the lung, which was making it hard for the monster to breath.

He just needed to push his advantage until he could administer the—

Suddenly, someone appeared in Batman's peripheral vision. Head jerking to a side, the vigilante could make out the figure of a person slowly approaching him. "Stop," he warned, holding a hand up to emphasize.

The person did so, but not before Batman caught sight of their identity. "Langstrom," he growled lowly. "What you doing here?"

"I'm sorry, Batman," Langstrom apologized. "But there's something you should know. This Man-Bat you're facing," he paused as he swallowed deeply, "is my father."

Well, that was surprising. That still didn't answer his question. Before he could say as much, Langstrom continued, "And after seeing the footage you should me, I know he's not going to be easy to stop. Which is why I…"

Even though the scientist trailed off, alarms were blaring in Batman's head. That it was foolish for someone like Langstrom to come out of a safe place like the bunker went without saying. A man of his intelligence would know this; so that meant he had something to protect him since he had left. While there were weapons in the bunker, none of them would be accessible to the scientist, so there was no way he had those. In fact, the only thing he had access to was…

"What have you done?" Batman asked softly, warily even.

Even from where he stood, he could see the changes beginning to alter Langstrom's body and face. "The antidote in my system slowed it down, but it looks like it just ran out."

And then the face of the original Man-Bat twisted and replaced the man's kinder one, his shirt ripping to pieces as leathery wings grew out from his arms.

 _"SSSSKKKKKRRRRRRIIIIIIEEEEEEEE!"_


	29. Duel of the Alphas

Duel of the Alphas

Long ago, he had witnessed a fight between two alpha males. They were two wolves, both from different packs who had come across each other one fateful day. There were growls, and snarls, the two animals making themselves as big as they could to intimidate the other. And when posturing and intimidation didn't work, that was when the real fight began.

It had been happenstance for him to come across such an event. His teacher at the time had taken advantage of it to instill a lesson unto him. Bruce had paid scant attention as he had been fascinated by the confrontation, the savagery and the brutality of the battle that was distraction at its finest.

Now, years later, Batman found himself in the middle of another contest. Everything he knew about Abraham Langstrom painted him as an alpha, and nothing could be closer to the truth on that account. Kirk Langstrom was a beta male at best, someone who bowed to the whims of an alpha.

Kirk Langstrom as a Man-bat was an alpha.

The snarls, the inflation of their bodies, and the posturing closely resembled those two alpha wolves. The Dark Knight was between the two of them, ignored but easily able to become collateral damage if this was going where he thought it was.

Goddamn it Langstrom.

With the now familiar screech, Kirk charged at his father, arms extended outwards and teeth bared threateningly. Abraham reciprocated, easily ignoring the injuries and trauma it had endured at the hands of the vigilante to deal with this intruder. Batman leapt out of the way, going into a roll.

Looking over his shoulder, he saw the two Man-bats launch themselves into the air, collided several feet above the ground before shoving off each other and flapping their wings, gaining altitude. The vigilante's eyes widened at the implications of this and he knew that this fight was about to use the skies of Gotham as its battlefield. Who knew where it would lead?

He could not let them out of his sights.

Pulling out a grapple, he released the hook and cable from the launcher, swinging the grappling hook over his head and throwing it at the nearest Man-bat. He almost smirked in triumph as his aim came true, the cable wrapping about the leg of the Kirk Man-bat and the hook catching hold. With all his strength, he pulled down on the cable, hoping to throw his catch off and bring it back down.

The sensation of his arms almost being pulled from their sockets was what he experienced next as he was pulled off the ground and up into the air with the mutated father and son. He had not planned for this.

Abraham was leading them higher into the air, throwing snarls at his son while Kirk determinedly flapped his wings, giving chase. Batman meanwhile hung on to the only connection he had, the grappling rope, and clenched his teeth as air resistance pulled back on him. Abraham began leading them through the city, weaving between the buildings. Kirk followed easily, copying each maneuver his father used.

Batman kept hitting the brick and mortar, eventually figuring out to maneuver his body so that he was using his feet to absorb the shock of hitting the vertical surfaces. Knowing that he couldn't let this keep happening, he began climbing and along the length of the cable, closing the distance between himself and Kirk.

As Abraham flew around another building, Batman ran along the side of the building so as not to hit this one as well. He sped up the rate in which he neared Kirk, almost at the Man-bat's feet when he made the next turn.

Abraham was nowhere in sight, Kirk giving a growl as he searched for his father. Initially alarmed that the both of them had managed to lose the large Man-bat, Batman didn't have to begin his own search as the Langstrom patriarch shrieked from above, coming down on his son in an aerial dive.

A change in direction as Batman felt his body being pushed in the opposite direction. Above him, Abraham was striking at his son with long claws. Kirk took the blows and scratches, slashing back at his father's torso in primal rage. Batman felt himself yanked up as Kirk raised a leg to kick at the larger Man-bat. It was the leg which the Dark Knight had hooked earlier and now with his higher vantage, he was in reach of the other leg.

It was an opportunity he didn't leave to waste. Snagging the ankle, Batman released his hold of the cable to wrap his arm around the leg, placing all his weight on the limb and throwing Kirk off kilter. Abraham rammed a large hand into the smaller Man-bat's face, Kirk's movements becoming erratic as he sought to escape.

Surprisingly, this allowed Batman to climb further up. It was not easy, and as he gripped the brim of tattered pair of pants that clung onto Kirk's lower body, Kirk dropped several feet in the air, freeing himself from his father.

However, now his attention was on his passenger.

With an irritated snarl, Kirk swiped at him, Batman swinging his body away from the sharp claws. They spun around once then the other way as kirk switched sides. Ears perking, the Man-bat, flapped its wings in front of it, pushing backwards and out of the way of Abraham. The larger Man-bat's jaw snapped shut with a snap, his mouth empty of any part of Kirk from whom he tried to bite.

Knowing that this would be incredibly risky, Batman released his grip on Kirk and leapt off, grabbing onto Abraham. His hands gained purchase on the ripping wifebeater the mutated businessman still wore, tearing it more but managing to keep his body on his new perch.

Seeking to gain more stability, the vigilante slid his fingers into the necktie still wrapped around Abraham's neck. This had the effect of restricting the monster's breathing, which was probably a good thing. It would tire the beast beneath him faster and bring this thing to an end. Like Kirk had, Abraham struggled, bucking his body as he tried to free himself. In response, Batman planted his thighs around the Man-bat's waist, squeezing tightly.

A cry from above alerted him to Kirk who was attempting a dive bomb on them. Pulling on the necktie and with his hips, the vigilante attempted to twist himself out of the way. It didn't quite work out the way he wanted as Kirk came within inches of them. Wielding sharp claws, the keratin-based weapon tore into his armor plating and entered through a gap. Batman gave a grunt as his skin was torn into.

Momentum propelled Kirk passed them, his claws tearing off the portion of the vigilante's armor that covered his upper arm. Air met the long cuts as blood bled out from them. It was a persistent sting, one he needed to ignore if he wanted to survive.

Fortunately, there was one way to speed this up.

Pulling out a tranquilizer gun, the antidote sloshing in its chamber, Batman stabbed it into Abraham's shoulder and squeezed the trigger. To his surprise, he saw the blue liquid pour out and around the fur-covered skin. Pulling the small gun away, he scowled at the sight of a broken off needle. A quick glance down confirmed that no skin had been broken, pieces of the broken needle tangled in the fur.

Looks like Abraham wasn't a normal Man-bat. A thick hide for the creature he had become was the problem.

Abraham jerked and went on the move. Seemed like he was about to be taken for a ride.

* * *

Harvey didn't know how long he had been running, being chased by what turned out to one of many bat-like creatures. His breaths were becoming heavier and heavier, and body starting to tire from the frantic activity he had found himself in. Once he would have prided himself on being fit, if not in decent shape, but right now he really wished he had gone to the gym more.

He had been behind a desk too long, and a sedentary lifestyle had been the result. Such a thing was a killer in a situation like these. Figures he would be holding some crime lord's financial books and not something more useful, like a baseball bat.

Or a gun.

The people who were caught out here were those who had yet to find sanctuary. They tried to hide behind anything they could when one of these monsters showed up, and ran when the coast was clear. That meant there wasn't a lot of foot traffic, meaning not a lot of people were in his face. Catch 22, that meant there was no one to distract the thing chasing him either.

Shooting a look over his shoulder for what felt like the hundredth time, he could see that thing flying in the air, keeping him in sight at all times. It would draw closer and then fall back a bit. Was it trying to wear him out first? If that was the case, he'd needed to change tact.

Time to get out of the streets and into an area that was not flying friendly. The back alleys should do the trick.

The first chance he got, he made a sharp turn into an alley, racing through the barren area (who'd have thought, an almost clean alley in Gotham?) only to come to a sudden stop at the brick wall that ended it.

Crap. Of all the alleys to go into, he had to go into the one with the dead end. Bad choice of words right there.

Spinning around on his heel, he readied himself to dash out of this potential death trap. He didn't do anything as he saw the bat creature fly by the mouth of the alley without stopping. What…what had just happened?

Harvey couldn't believe his luck. Had he just lost that thing? A sudden sharp turn was all he had to do? That didn't make any sense. Hold on, what if he hadn't been chased? What if he had only been going in the same direction as that thing by mere coincidence?

Now he felt like the fool.

As least, he did for two seconds. In the third second, something dropped down from above and landed on the ground in front of him, blocking the exit. It didn't take long to figure out that this was another one of those things. There were some differences, like gray fur and a mouth that was always open…and drooling. Dead black eyes narrowed down at him and the creature stood to its full height, giving a garbled growl.

Its saliva continuously dripped from its mouth and…was that smoke on the ground? Around its feet where its drool was landing? Well, that couldn't be good.

Then, to make things worse, the bat creature that had been chasing before showed up at the front of the alley. Taking a good look at them and sniffing the air, it then took off without a moment's hesitation.

Okay, seemed like this was one of the nastier ones.

He took a step back, then a second. The monster in front of him reciprocated, using its longer legs to decrease the distance between them faster than Harvey could make it. Not good. Not good. Damn it, how did this happen? How had he come to this, trapped in a dead-end alley and about to be monster chow?

"Hold it! Don't you move!"

A human voice! And from behind the creature. Oh thank God, it was a cop!

"Shoot it already!" he yelled out.

The bat creature swung its head around, and sent a big glop of its saliva flying through the air until it struck the cop's face. Immediately the cop began screaming, a hand pressed against his face and blinding him to the creature's very quick approach. With a mighty swing of its arm, it struck the cop and slammed him into the alley way. From his hand, the cop's gun went clattering to the ground, a few feet away from the horrified DA.

What followed next, Harvey did not want to describe it. With its bulk now blocking the sight of his would-be rescuer, he could only guess that the thing was eating and picking apart the helpless man, that is if those wet sounds were anything to go by.

His eyes flickered downward and to the dropped gun. If only he could reach it, maybe he'd be about to get out of this after all. Keeping his breathing even, Harvey took a step in the gun's direction.

The monster must have had good hearing because its head went up then turned to eye him. Losing interest in its meal, it returned to stalking the distressed lawyer. All it took, really, was for it to place its foot right in front of the gun, blocking it from view and destroying any chance he had of surviving this.

Backing away once more, it didn't take long for Harvey's back to meet up with the brick wall that kept him captive. The giant bat began to make its approach, its drool constantly dripping out of its mouth.

Oh God, no, no, no. This couldn't be how it ended. There was still too much to do, so much to accomplish, and—Gilda! He should have been home instead of trying to placate Rupert Thorne. Why hadn't he ignored that damn phone instead?

Instead, this was what he had to face. A drooling beast that was going to make him its supper in some alley somewhere in Gotham. Whatever was left of him wouldn't be found for weeks. Sweat dripped down his face and his heart hammered in his chest as each excruciating second passed. Fight or flight? Which one, which one?

Abruptly, there was a switch. Harvey only knew a sudden bout of darkness as someone else took over the driver's seat that was his consciousness.

A sneer broke out on the DA's face and a deep voice snarled, "You think it's going to be that easy? You can have that goody-two-shoes but you won't get me you son of a bitch!"

Big Bad Harv tossed aside Harvey's briefcase and ran at the giant animal, hands balled into fists.

One of them was going down, and it wasn't going to be him.

* * *

Three monitors was not enough for this. But it was all Barbara had to work with right now so she would complain later. To herself. Because she had thought all she needed were three monitors.

"Okay, Nightwing, You're going to want to head over to North Bridgebain, that's the street they renamed from Powers Avenue a year ago. You have two hostiles there."

" _Roger_."

At the very least, they were working with her even though they hadn't discovered his limitations yet. If she was good enough, they never would.

"Alright, Birds, you're needed over at Cleveland Street, not Avenue or Boulevard. The last two are safe. Street has multiple Man-bats."

" _Got it._ "

"Huntress? What's your status?"

" _What do you Goddamn think? Find a fucking camera and you'll see._ "

She did find a fucking camera and she clenched her jaw at what she saw. It wasn't the first time she had seen it this night but it didn't make it any easier to see. Not only were the police gunning for the Man-bats, which was reasonable as none of them knew what these things were or how to take them down without killing them, but they were also firing at the vigilantes.

She didn't know if they were doing this on her father's order, which didn't make any sense to her, or if this was someone else's doing. She so wanted it to be the latter because she didn't know how she would handle it if it was the former.

" _Got one on Bridgebain but the other left. Think you can find it?_ "

"Not likely," the wheelchair-bound woman muttered to herself. Barbara made it a point not to say that over the line, though. Instead, "I need someone to head over to Huntress' position. She's under heavy fire and, shit, there's a few Man-bats going that way too. Take down those bats first."

" _Got it._ " Then, apparently thinking about it, there was an added, " _O._ "

That was the name she picked, after all. She'd come up with a better one later.

Going through more images, trying to further nail down the area of this unwanted bat infestation, Barbara found something else that put her on alarm.

"Everybody, there's a large movement of cops heading in your direction. They're coming from all sides. If they're anything like the ones shooting at you, you need to be extremely careful. I'll keep track of them, try to stay alive."

With the way things were going, Barbara was praying that her father wasn't involved.

* * *

Abraham was trying to get rid of him. The Dark Knight continued to hold on for dear life as the monstrous Man-bat took him on another high-speed tour of the city. Powerful muscles shifted, flexing and contracting beneath him with every flap of the creature's leather wings.

Abraham grunted and coughed as Batman pulled on the necktie around his neck but showed no signs of slowing down. Snarls from behind told him that Kirk was giving chase.

The Man-bat made a right, flying next to the side of a building. The vigilante noted how close they were to the side of the structure and then spotted a flagpole that stuck out, rapidly approaching them. Eyes widening, Batman let go of his holds on his unwilling ride and pushed up.

For a second he was airborne, momentum pushing him forward and keeping him parallel with Abraham who flew under the obstacle. Then he fell back down, landing on Abraham and quickly grabbing onto him again. One hand grasped at a shoulder while the other clenched down on the ripping wifebeater. One of his legs dangled off the Man-bat, the other hooking around the waist.

His position was tenuous, and both of them noticed. Without warning, Abraham began increasing altitude, flying higher and higher. Air continued to buffet him and he clenched his teeth from all the strain he was putting on his body.

Then the helicopter came into view. It didn't belong to the GCPD as another acronym covered its side. It was a news outlet, trying to get a bird's eye view of the action below. And it looked like the Man-bat was going to try to use it to scrap the Dark Knight off of him. Shooting a quick glance behind him, he calculated how far Kirk was.

At the last second, he let go and leapt off Abraham, falling back towards the city and almost into the smaller of the two mutated men. Seeing him incoming, Kirk had tried to fly over him but wasn't able to move far enough. Batman's arms jarred as they latched onto Kirk's shoulders, his legs quickly wrapping around the beast man's hips.

Kirk snarled at him and for that, he received a punch to the face. Pulling his other arm down, he attempted to direct Kirk back down and into the city where his chances of living were greater. Kirk fought against him, flapping his wings and rising higher instead. Because his attention was not on where he was going, he did not see the helicopter that Batman had avoided earlier rushing up behind him.

He released his hold on the smaller Man-bat and let himself plummet back down into the city. Kirk, meanwhile, struck the news helicopter from beneath, causing the aircraft to jostle as the pilot struggled to control it.

At that point, Batman could only trust that the helicopter's pilot could handle things. It was time to save himself. Running electric current through his gauntlets and into his cape, he formed the makeshift glider and used it to slow his descent. Gliding about, he quickly searched for the two Man-bats and spotted Kirk as he hovered in the air, trying to get his bearings and shrieking at the stabilized helicopter.

Damn it, he was too high up for the vigilante to try and reach him. Without an uplifting air current or a thermal, there was no way he'd be able to return to the fight.

From out of nowhere, Abraham struck, slamming into Kirk and forcing the both of them into a freefall. Kirk gave a scream as his transformed father bit into his shoulder. One second later, Batman found himself above the two now as Kirk managed to tear himself away though his father was not about to let him get too far.

Ending the current, Batman began his fall again, angling himself so that he was able to grab onto Abraham. Higher up on the monster's body, it gave him the angle to slam his elbow into the larger Man-bat's head. That caused Abraham to break off from attacking his son and try to grab at him.

Just as Abraham's hand grabbed onto him, he was saved by intervention from Kirk who rammed into the larger Man-bat's torso. Unfortunately, this caused Batman to fall back, though he managed to hold on with his legs.

Okay, this was not working. This was proving difficult enough trying to fight the both of them at the same time with minimal results for all his efforts. He was going to have to take one of them down first, then the other. But which one?

As Abraham beat his son off him, the smaller Man-bat falling away, Batman noticed how much tired he looked. He had been taking much more damage than the one the vigilante was currently latched on to.

Eyes narrowing, he made his choice as he pushed off of Abraham and fell down towards Kirk. Not bothering to use his cape to slow his descent, instead he made himself as small as possible and shot through the air like a missile. He only threw his arms and legs out at the last second, slamming into Kirk's back and wrapping his limbs around him.

Kirk gave out a shriek, beginning to buck once more. Not this time. He was tired of playing this game. With one hand he snagged his cape and threw it over Kirk's head. Quickly, he wrapped it around the Man-bat's snout, then the eyes, blinding him and preventing any attempts at trying to tear the material.

"Okay, Langstrom. I'm driving," he quipped out as he pulled on his cape and squeezed down on the beast's torso with his thighs. Kirk flapped his wings rapidly, trying to gain stability while struggling to get the tough material off his face.

Squeezing his legs tighter, Batman unlocked the reflexive action of the Man-bat propelling himself forward in the air. Each time he jerked on his cape, he turned Kirk's head enough that he was tilt his body to adjust.

A roar from behind alert him that Abraham was now playing the follower and was coming after them. To the vigilante's distaste, he saw that the large Man-bat was quickly closing the distance between them.

Alright, Dr. Langstrom, let's see what you could do.

* * *

You would think that a high frequency scream would be something to deter animals with very sensitive senses of hearing. When that scream nearly incapacitated those monsters, you would think that was warning enough to stay away from its source.

You would be wrong.

Sliding over the hood of a police cruiser, Black Canary leaned back, extending her legs up and out. A cop was standing on the other side and once she reached it, her legs immediately wrapped around the man, one leg pushing up against his neck while the other pulled from the back of his head. The officer's hands were gripping her calves in a feeble attempt to pull them off.

With practiced ease, Black Canary jerked her legs to a side, forcing the man to lose his balance and flip upside down. He landed on his head and collapsed into a heap on the ground, the blonde vigilante untangling her lets from him in midair before she landed on the pavement.

And then a Man-Bat swooped over her head.

Instinctively ducking, Black Canary looked up as many more Man-Bats seemed to come out of the woodworks, swooping through the air and screeching the presence. It wasn't a coincidence so many of them had come here.

After injecting the antidote into the previous two, Canary and Manhunter had gone to subdue the trigger-happy GCPD, only to have another Man-Bat arrive. No biggie, except another came, and then another. Next thing the Birds of Prey new, they had cops on the ground shooting in every which direction, and giant bats filling the skies. It really wasn't fair.

Spotting an incoming Man-Bat, Black Canary unleashed her Canary Cry, a short one though. That was all that was needed to cause the Man-Bat to break out of its flight pattern, its face twisting with pain as it went careening right by her and smashed headfirst into a squad car, leaving a large dent in its door. Without hesitating, the blonde woman was at its side, injecting it with the antidote.

That was her fourth vaccination. "I've only got one more antidote vial," she called out over her comm link. "I hope you guys have more."

There was a moment before Manhunter piped up. _"I've got two more."_ There was a grunt, then, _"But I don't think that'll be enough."_

Black Canary cursed. Looking to the sky, there were definitely more than two Man-Bats fluttering about. In fact, if she wasn't mistaken, she counted two… _three…four…aaaaand five._ Five Man-Bats left. Between Manhunter and her, they could get three, but that left two more to deal with.

"Katana, please tell me you've got antidote on you," Black Canary spoke, her eyes spotting an officer crawling between two cars. There was some blood on the side of his head, so he had to have taken a shot. He seemed to be heading right for a shotgun.

 _Not today, pal._

Quickly, Black Canary closed in on the cop. Going into a flip, she brought the heel of one of her feet right down on the back off the man's neck, delivering a powerful kick that dropped the guy face first into the pavement. More importantly, it knocked him out.

An instant later and Black Canary's body landed roughly on the ground, though nothing she couldn't brush off. Hand pressed to her ear, she pressed, "Katana, answer."

It was then that she saw it. Between the front bumpers of two squad cars was Katana, crouched on the ground with her sword held to her left. To her right was a man in a bulletproof vest, a gun firmly in hand and he was aiming it right at Katana's temple.

 _Oh God._

* * *

The end of the scabbard rammed into the policeman's gut, stunning him and knocking the air out of his lungs. The scabbard then shot up and collided with the man's chin, snapping his head back as he sailed backwards and into the side of a police car.

Katana only paid enough mind to make sure the officer was down before she turned her attention to two more armed policemen. They had their handguns out and were trying to take a shot at her.

She wouldn't let them get a shot off.

Keeping low, Katana dashed towards them, making herself a harder target as she ducked behind squad car after squad car. Every move she made, she could see their barrels jerking back and forth, trying to keep her in their sights.

The moment she was within striking distance, the Asian woman swung her sword. With one slash, she sliced off the barrel of the gun closest to her. Due to her position, she used the policeman in front of her as a shield to prevent his comrade from firing.

Pivoting on her feet, she spun around the dumbfounded man in front of her, her sword swinging widely and cutting through the other officer's gun. With both guns rendered useless, Katana sheathed her sword even as she leapt up into the air. Leaning to one side, she kicked out with one leg in front of her, the other going back. Both of her feet struck the men in the side of their heads, knocking them off their feet in the process. Simultaneously, the three landed on the ground, two in heaps on the pavement and Katana on her feet, crouching to brace herself against the impact of landing.

" _SSSKKKRRRRIIIIEEEEE!"_

Jerking her head to a side, Katana saw a Man-Bat bearing down on her. Instantly, she dove forward, going into a roll to end up crouched on her feet, the flying creature sailing by harmlessly.

And then she heard a _click._

Freezing, Katana slowly glanced to her right, catching sight of yet another police officer. This one wore the familiar body armor the rest wore; however, he wasn't dressed in uniform. It looked as if he had pulled into the precinct in his civilian clothes, threw on some protection, and ran out into the night.

A malicious grin shown through a neatly trimmed moustache. "I got you now, you vigilante scum," he said snidely.

" _Katana, please tell me you've got antidote on you,"_ Black Canary's voice crackled through the comm link in her ear. Katana didn't dare answer, solely focused on this man with the gun mere centimeters from her head. Any sudden movement and the man would fire, which drastically limited the number of options she had. Striking him was also out of the question due to similar results.

She was effectively at this man's mercy.

" _Katana, answer,"_ Black Canary urged.

"You should've stayed at him, ninja girl," the policeman spoke. "I don't care why you're out here and I don't care what you think you're trying to do. I do want you to know who the person putting a bullet in this noggin of yours is; it's Sergeant Cort, GCPD.

"Now say your—"

In a flurry of moment, something large, hairy, and brown crashed into this Sergeant Cort, knocking him away and subsequently his gun. Jerking her head, she caught sight of a Man-Bat landing on the ground, attacking Cort with his mouth. "Aaaaahhhhhh! Aaaaaahhhhhh!" Cort screamed over and over as he was assaulted.

Reaching to her belt, Katana pulled out the tranquilizer gun with the antidote loaded. Closing in on the feasting creature, the Asian woman leaped onto its back and shoved the barrel of the airgun against its neck, injecting the cure in an instant later.

" _SSSSSSSKKKKKKKRRRRRIIIIIIEEEEEEE!"_ the Man-Bat screamed as it reared up, Katana falling off of it and touching down on her feet. Bouncing away, she put a short distance between her and it, keeping her eyes on the monster's blood-covered teeth and mouth.

And as she expected, the Man-Bat began to shrink, its hair receding into a nearly naked man stood in its place. The man wobbled on his feet before collapsing into a heap on the street.

Sure there was no more trouble from that quarter, Katana then turned her attention to Cort. While he too was no longer a threat, unfortunately, he was more of a bloody mess than a person now. Most of the blood poured from his neck; it was too late for him.

And then Black Canary was at her side. "Are you okay, Katana?" she asked wildly, her eyes wide with panic. "I saw the whole thing and—"

"I am fine," Katana interrupted her, holding herself with stoic poise. "You wanted me?"

The blonde woman stared at her before slowly nodding. "I wanted to know how much antidote you still had on you. Manhunter and I are running out."

"Four vials," she answered. "I hope that is enough."

"We'll see."

* * *

The bat bastard snarled as he swung its largeass arm at Harv, the snarling man ducking under and tackling the beast's midsection. With the force of his body ramming into the giant animal, he only pushed it back a single step, not even throwing it off balance.

This would not stop Harv who was nothing like that pussy Harvey. That loser, that _quitter_ , had already given up the fight, but not him. He didn't take shit from anybody and those that threw it at him would regret it.

"You oversized rodent!" he yelled as he punched at the bastard's kidney. "Think you can take me down?! Think again!"

A large hand grabbed him from behind and threw him off. Harv wrapped his arms around the bat bitch, refusing to budge. The strength behind the hand was stronger and Harv was ripped off and thrown away like garbage. That only served to piss him off more as he got back to his feet.

That thing thought it was better than him because it was stronger than him? That it was bigger and had teeth and was growling like some kind of dog? Please. This thing was a bitch, plain and simple.

"That all you got?" he growled. "I've got plenty more to give ya, you freak."

Grabbing a trashcan, Harv heft it up over his head with adrenaline-filled strength and threw it at the giant bat, the contents of the can spilling out. The bat swatted it away, ducking its head. With a roar, Harv ran at the bastard, hands pressed together as he held them above his head then brought them down like a club.

His hands jarred together against the animal's skull, trembling from the blunt trauma he inadvertently forced on them. That wouldn't stop him from pulling them apart and grabbing those ridiculously long ears, pulling the beast's head down and bringing his knee up to greet its face.

"How'd ya like that? You fucking freak!" Harv shouted as he lowered and brought his knee back up into its face a second time. "That'll show ya to mess with me!"

With a shriek, the bat giant slid its long arm between them and swung, knocking the vicious second personality away and into the alley wall. Its large hands went up to its ear, trying to relieve the pain it felt.

Harv wouldn't admit it, but that took a lot out of him. Not like he was about to give up like Harvey. No, he was a survivor. He'd do what should've been done already.

Like shooting the son of a bitch, he concluded as he spotted the gun laying on the ground. Sure it was on the other side of the bat, but he could take him. He had to if he was to survive.

As quick as he could, Harv ran around the bat beast and lunged for the gun, arm outstretched. Before he could reach it, he was hit from behind and overshot the firearm. Crashing onto the ground, he rolled onto his back just as a foot slammed down on his waist followed by a hand on his chest.

Arms shooting out, Harv caught the bastard's head, stopping it from taking a bite out of him. His muscles strained as he tried to push it back though to no avail. With disgust, he noticed the asshole's drool beginning to drip on his ragged suit, moving closer and closer to his head.

He turned his head so that the right sight of his face pressed into the graveled alley floor, exposing the left side of his face to the beast's drool. A drop made contact with skin and a second later a burning sensation made itself known to the personality. Another drop and more burning followed, the pattern repeating more and more by the second.

Keeping his left eye closed at this point, with his right eye Harv spotted the gun he had made for still lying innocently within arms' reach. Maneuvering his arm so that his lower arm pressed against the bat's throat, Harv reached out with the other for the gun, his fingers just reaching it.

Just a little more, he thought. A little…more…

All the while half of his face began to burn.

* * *

Batman jerked his cape to the right, Kirk reciprocated and adjusted his trajectory. Tightening his legs, he nonverbally urged the transformed scientist to speed up. He did need to look behind him to know how close the pursuing Abraham was. He could almost feel the mutated businessman's hot breath behind him.

Planting a hand on the back of Kirk's head, he shoved it down, the Man-bat lowering his altitude in time for Abraham to overshoot them. The large Man-bat brought his wings together, trying to slow down, his ears practically swiveling to keep track of his prey.

Twisting his body and pulling his cape up, he had them make a sharp left. Taking the time to glance over his shoulder, he could see their pursuer zero in on them and continue his chase.

Reaching to his belt, he pulled out a few bat-shaped shuriken, each one possessing an explosive within. Directing Kirk closer to one side of the street, he waited for Abraham to follow suit before he threw the shuriken behind him, his target the face of the building beside them. Small of pieces of shrapnel and debris blasted out from the building, raining against the agitated Abraham and slowing him down.

Throwing Kirk into evasive maneuvers, he had his Man-bat mount weave between the buildings, flying through alleys and making sharp turns. He wasn't trying to lose Abraham, though. Hearing the larger Man-bat running into brick and mortar, and generally crashing into whatever Kirk effortless avoided was a satisfying sound to the Dark Knight.

A buck from his unwilling ride reminded him that the current state of things wouldn't last long. The fabric of his cape was beginning to strain against the smaller Man-bat's jaws. With enough time, it would eventually rip.

Pulling the cape back and forcing Kirk's head back, he had them climb out of the labyrinth of buildings that made up the city, his cowled head scanning around for anything that he could use.

A few blocks down and a couple streets over, he spotted something that looked promising. It was a small water tower placed on top of a building, probably an apartment complex. If he could run the Man-bat he was on into the metal of the tower, the water contained within reinforcing it, he should be able to knock him out.

Theoretically.

Hearing Abraham snarling for blood ended any second thoughts he might have about this plan. He dug his knees into Kirk's sides to get him flapping his wings harder, increasing their speed. Slowly, he pulled on his cape and brought them into a curve, angling them towards the tower.

Maybe he had been pulling too slowly, or they were going too fast, but their turn was overshooting the tower. He tried jerking the cape harder, but Kirk was choosing that moment to resist, angling their trajectory away from the vigilante's intended destination.

At the last second, Batman spotted the rooftop entrance and without thinking, he raised an arm brought it down with all the force he could into the back of Kirk's head. Accidentally, he pressed his knees deeper into the Man-bat's side, speeding them up faster than the vigilante intended. They were going down and in the next second, Kirk's head clipped the top of the roof entrance.

The next thing Batman knew, they were flipping over and he suddenly had a very heavy Man-bat crashing on top of him, the weight leaving as the two of them went into a roll. Both were out of control as they struck the roof, rolling over one another until coming to a violent halt against one of the supporting pipes of the water tower.

For a moment, there was no movement, only two bodies laying on the gravel-covered roof. Then, Batman pulled himself up, groaning as his body protested any movement. He would be feeling this tomorrow.

There was a high-pitched whine beside him, directing his attention to the motionless Man-bat. His cape was still wrapped around the creature's head, and further examination showed that it was almost ripped off from his shoulders. Removing the strained fabric, he simultaneous took out an intact tranquilizer gun, a spare he had brought with him that was still miraculously intact.

Thankfully the antidote was safe too. The needle was stabbed into the creature's arm and the liquid injected.

One down.

A thump from nearby alerted him that they had company. Lifting his head up, which took a lot of effort, he saw the other Man-bat had landed nearby, growling ominously at them.

Okay, one more. He just needed to take this one down.

He staggered to his feet, a wave of dizziness hitting him. It almost felt like he had another concussion, not good. But he had to focus now. Not with this last threat readying itself to strike.

Time to end this family feud once and for all.

* * *

Author's Note: I'm a little bit proud about the Batman/Man-bat fight. Normally ShadowMajin would have written those scenes but for once I took charge of a fight. What are your thoughts about it? Hopefully suspenseful and exciting. Any ways it have been improved? Things appear to be winding down so stay tuned for the next chapter.


	30. Unraveling the Strange

Unraveling the Strange

From an alley, a lone gunshot was heard. A second echoed out, then a third. Then it was all quiet.

Moments later, a man emerged, a briefcase in one hand and a gun in the other. Stumbling away, the man made his way across the street and into a store. There was no one there to greet him, the place abandoned long ago. It was to the back the man headed, specifically to a door that had a sign on it.

It was a sign that declared to the world that it was a restroom.

Shoving the door open, the man made his way to the sink, dropping everything in his hands to turn on the faucet and cupping his hands together to collect water. Quickly, he splashed the cool liquid against the left side of his face that had become numb at some point. The burning returned but he ignored it, continuing to wash off the acidic substance that had dripped onto it.

Panting hard from the pain he was experiencing, he stopped splashing water and hunched over the sink, his body heaving desperately for air. Lifting his head up, the man glanced into the mirror that set up post above the sink. He could barely see anything in it due to the lack of light.

With one hand, he reached out to a light switch and flicked it on.

A moment later, an animalistic scream erupted from the restroom. It ended as a balled-up fist smashed the mirror, the glass shattering like Harvey Dent's psyche.

* * *

It had been a long night so far. From the looks of things, it was about to get longer. With giant bats in the sky, cops firing off their guns like it was a warzone, and who knows how many people dead or injured, it felt like it would be an impossible task to put an end to it.

While there were many reasons why he was still commissioner, one of the big ones was that Gordon knew how to settle things. Even something like this. He knew how to manage his men in a crisis to get their heads on straight and stay organized enough to maintain whatever progress they managed to accomplish.

The exception with this night so far was that there was another commander on the field in the form of Cort. So long as Cort was out there, he would be able to keep the department's resources and priorities split. Then word came over the radio that Cort was down.

Now it was his time.

"I want all units to regroup," he ordered over the radio. Looking over to Sarah who was with him at headquarters, he asked a silent question to her that she understood.

"Beaumont, Cisero, and Wayne," she stated.

"Move back to Beaumont, Cisero and Wayne. I want every officer to start herding these things together. Air support is on route and they'll be our eyes in the sky. I repeat, regroup at Beaumont, Cisero, and Wayne."

While being three random streets, those three in particular had been identified as a perimeter. This invasion of B-movie monsters had localized and now the plan was to push them back. Helicopters with armed riflemen would attempt to keep these things from simply flying away and take away as much maneuverability these things had as possible.

Keep them to the streets. Keep them low so that they could be targeted. With the men on the ground preventing them from attacking and/or resting, the riflemen in the helicopters would unload their payloads of tranquilizers. Thanks to Bullock's report, Gordon was going to try to keep as many of these people alive as he could. They were victims enough already.

" _Who do you think you are, Gordon?_ " a voice demanded, someone from the opposition. " _You're not out here!_ "

"Follow my orders, officer. You've been doing things your way and from the sounds of it you're only getting yourselves killed," he retorted. "We're refocusing our priorities. Your first one are these bats."

"Man-bats," Sarah supplied helpfully.

Holding up a hand and shaking his head, Gordon continued, "Ignore the vigilantes. They are not our problem. These things are taking a bite out of us and now we return the favor. Push them back and the men in the helicopter will get them from above. You have your orders, officer. Follow them."

Traffic was picking up over the radio, starting with some complaints. Fortunately, Bullock cut in through it all and reissued the same orders. Huh, sounded like he was getting physical with the men out there. No problem of his. If they were Cort's men, well, he'd be getting some names from them and then to war he would go with their union on their future employment.

That would be for later. A shake-up of the department could wait.

In the meantime. "Man-bats?" he repeated, making eye contact with his wife.

"Internet," she shrugged.

All he could do was shake his head at that. That moment aside, he needed to get back to reorganizing the force's tactics. He spared only a second to wish luck to a man who was out there as well, hoping that he would be able to track down who was responsible for this.

Someone would have to answer for this.

* * *

Something was changing out here. One thing Nightwing noticed was that many of the cops that had been hounding them all night were breaking off, heading away. There were some stragglers still trying to shoot at them, though, but it looked so much more manageable now.

"You know Robin? Never thought I'd say this but I think we might need to start knocking out cops."

"We can't do that," Robin responded. "That's just…there's something not right about that."

"And they've been shooting at us all night. Except for that large guy," Nightwing replied. "They're stopping us from what we need to do."

"You think you know who would like us doing that? Especially with the toys he was nice enough to give us?"

That was too good of a point right there. He didn't say anything in response because, yeah, that was a really good point. They were still only on grudging tolerance with Batman anyway. So damn it, what were they suppose to do in this situation? Despite their skills, they were still in over their heads. It was like nothing was different.

"SSSSKKKKKKRRRRRRRAAAAAAAHHHHHH!"

"Incoming!" Robin said sharply as a Man-bat zoomed past them, right over their heads. "Looks like…it's going for the cops!"

"Suddenly, knocking some heads together sounds like a good idea," Nightwing muttered to himself but began giving chase.

The shriek of the Man-bat had drawn the attention of the few remaining cops. A few had froze up, either due to fear or indecision on whether to continue shooting at them or at this threat, the vigilante didn't know. A couple, however, still had their heads on their shoulders and had turned their sights on the flying beast instead.

As they fired, the Man-bat made slight adjustments to its trajectory, evading the shots before the bullets had left the guns' barrels. However, the closer it got, the more likely that something was going to hit.

"Guns!" Nightwing roared as he leapt onto the shoulders of one cop, using the guy as a stepping stone. He jumped up into the air, grabbing the Man-bat by its legs and wrapping his arms tightly around the appendages. At the same time, Robin threw out some non-exploding projectiles to knock the weapons out of the cops' hands.

The Man-bat let out a cry as it began to flap its wings frantically, trying to stabilize itself. The sudden weight it was experiencing was throwing it off, causing it bring itself up short. For a few seconds it would be hovering in the air, and after that who knew if it would try to shake off its passenger or take off.

Nightwing was not in the mood to find out. Swinging his legs back and forth, he began to pick up both momentum and height, all the while keeping the Man-bat struggling to stay up in the air. With a grunt, the masked young man gave it all he got and kicked his legs up, nailing his booted feet into the creature's chin.

His legs jarred, absorbing the shock running through them. Then came the sudden fall as the Man-bat was stunned enough by the unexpected blow to stop flapping its wings. There were cries as the bat-mutated person landed on top of a cop who was only now realizing the situation as well as his placement underneath them.

Okay, that was unintentional.

Oof! He was going to feel that in the morning! His back had smacked down on the pavement below and the Man-bat's legs had been pressed against his chest, forcing the air out of his lungs. No time to take recovering slowly. He had to get to work quickly.

As guns were turning on the two of them, Nightwing ignored them as he pulled out the last of the antidote he had on him and stabbed the tranquilizer gun into the Man-bat. There we go, take every last drop. The cries of men having their hands hit by small, metal projectiles only began to reach him as he pulled the needle out.

Shoving the animalistic legs off him, he rolled onto his stomach and scrambled to his feet, keeping low. He took a second to kick the legs out from underneath a cop before the guy could aim his firearm at him. With a flip, his feet were planted on the hood of an abandoned car and then he was out of there, Robin covering their escape.

Just as they were ducking away, bullets were fired at them. Whew, now they were golden. Hopefully, whoever had been that Man-bat was changing back. Otherwise they weren't going to have a good day. Nightwing knew he should have stuck around long enough to be sure but with how crazy this night had been, he was willing to…

Damn it, he needed to know.

"Hey O. Just down a Man-bat. Tell me if they're changing back. Otherwise, I'm going to have to beat up some cops."

Instead of continuing to run, he had skid to a stop and put his hand up to his ear. Robin overshot him and fumbled with his skid. Almost fell off his feet there.

" _Give me a sec,_ " was the immediate response. Nightwing clenched his jaw as he waited for the update. Not knowing if he had left someone to die was killing him here and he needed to know what was going on behind him. " _Okay, I have a visual. There's your position. I'd take cover if I were you, just in case…_ " Come on, Barbara, tell him what he wants to know! " _I see some officers. Okay, there's a person there. They looked freaked. Okay, they're speaking and…they're alive, Nightwing. They're reporting in on what they saw._ "

Well, that was one thing off his mind.

"Well?" Robin asked, or more like demanded.

"We did good tonight," the older vigilante replied. "Let's get out of here and see if we can't get our hands on more of that antidote. Just in case there's a straggler or two running around."

* * *

The animalistic cry became deeper and less guttural. As the Man-Bat's body twisted and shrank into an elderly woman, Black Canary watched on in grim satisfaction.

"I think that was the last of them," she announced loudly, not bothering to use the comm link. There wasn't much point in it considering there weren't any more Man-Bats, not to mention the trigger-happy GCPD were all unconscious at the moment. The Birds of Prey ended up on top once again.

With some help of course.

Turning away, the blonde vigilante spotted Katana sheathing her sword as she stood over what was hopefully the last of the GCPD officers. The last thing anyone needed right now was to be shot. Manhunter was sitting on the hood of one of the squad cars, taking in the sight of scattered cars and bodies.

"You know, I knew you guys were having a ball without me."

Finally, Black Canary turned to face the approaching Huntress. While they had been hard at work on this battlefield, the purple-clad vigilante had joined the fray, providing enough antidote to finally end the threat of the Man-Bats. It had been great timing too since even more of those flying monstrosities had come calling.

"Some days we do," Black Canary responded evenly. "It's good to see you're okay after tonight."

"Same here." Huntress came to a stop right next to the blonde woman, turning to look in the same direction she was. "All things aside, it felt like old times."

That it did. It was almost as if they had never split up, Manhunter's inclusion aside. A sense of longing welled up within Black Canary. "You know, your spot is still open if you want it."

The dark-haired woman glanced at her. "What about your rookie? I thought she took my place."

"I'm not looking to kick anyone out. Manhunter is a Bird of Prey until the day she quits vigilantism. The same with you."

Huntress slowly nodded her acceptance of this. "I get ya. For now though, I'll have to decline. I'm enjoying where I'm at right now. Feels right."

A sly smirk appeared on Black Canary's face. "Does it have anything to do with you running in Batman's circle?"

This time Huntress directed a glare at her, one that soften as she began to smirk. "I won't lie, it feels great to be accepted by him, after everything that's gone on between us. But he doesn't expect me to be there every night, so I can do any solo stuff I want."

"But you show up anyways."

Again, another nod, but this one felt more somber. "Can't let him think he can just team up with anyone. It's shocking enough he invited me in; I'm sure you've noticed how he likes to keep Batgirl on a short leash."

She had, but Canary was pretty sure Huntress knew as well as she did the reason for that. "Just remember, you're welcome back with the Birds any time."

"Thanks. You know, if you ever needed more muscle, you can always call. I'm pretty sure you and Katana haven't thrown away my number."

* * *

Abraham Langstrom snarled at him. Drool dripped from its lips, the gravel of the roof crunching beneath its feet.

Batman was the first to move.

Spinning around, the vigilante grabbed onto the smaller support beams of the water tower and hauled himself off the ground, slipping his legs followed by his body through the gap between them. The large Man-Bat roared and charged after him. Batman didn't wait for it to reach him as he darted to his left the moment his feet hit the ground.

The giant bat plowed through the support beams even as the Dark Knight repeated his earlier actions, grabbing onto the wooden beams and slipping through the gap between them. Pieces of the support beams the Man-Bat had broken pelted his back.

And then the creature was ripping through the set of beams he had just used. This time, Batman spun around and dove to the ground, rolling right by the giant Man-Bat's leg, even as it took a swipe at him with its arm. The wind from the swing blew against the dark-clad man's body as the arm sailed over him.

Ending up on the balls of his feet underneath the water tower, Batman pulled out a bat-shaped shuriken. Pivoting on his feet and twisting his body, the vigilante sent the projectile flying at his monstrous foe.

The Abraham Man-Bat was spinning around as well, flinging its arm up in a back swipe in another attempt at attack. Fortunately its massive, winged arm didn't collide with the shuriken; unfortunately, the shuriken hit the giant bat on its shoulder, bouncing off of it harmlessly.

Eyes widening, Batman quickly pulled out another shuriken and threw it, this one hitting the bat right between the eyes. Like the previous bat-shaped shuriken, it too ricocheted off; however, it did give the Man-Bat pause, its head jerking back stunned.

This was bad. The shuriken Batman used had sharp edges, which allowed it to cut through just about everything. The fact they simply bounced off of this Man-Bat, not to mention the lack of blood being drawn, indicated that they weren't cutting the skin. And if the shuriken weren't getting the job done…

There was no other way to get the needle of the tranquilizer gun through its thick hide. Even a small cut somewhere on this leviathan's body would be welcomed at this point.

The large Man-Bat recovered then, bellowing out a war cry. Lunging, it dove at him headfirst, its mouth wide open and revealing its very large, very sharp teeth. Unable to move, all Batman could do was get his arms up, shoving them underneath the Man-Bat's jaw and pressing them against its neck. The momentum of the charge pushed the vigilante off his feet, causing him to land on his back.

However, though this was a very bad position to be in, this did present an opportunity. Getting his legs up, Batman pressed them into the Abraham Man-Bat's stomach and pushed as hard as he could against it. This resulted in the giant bat flipping off of him and careening right into one of the water tower's legs, hitting it with its back upside down. The leg dented outward from the collision, a dull _THUD_ echoing out. Because it was upside down, the Man-Bat dropped to the ground, landing head first, followed by its body collapsing down.

A loud creaking sound was made then, causing Batman to jerk his head up. The water tower, it was swaying side to side, its support beams groaning in protest against the jostling of water within the tank. This gave him an idea.

Pulling out several shuriken, Batman made several calculations within his head before pressing his thumb against the body of one before he threw it at the leg of the water tower. One end of the projectile pierced into the leg, sticking out. Its body continuously flashed a red light.

Looking to the Man-Bat, he could see it struggling to right itself, scrambling to get back onto its feet. Raising up a second shuriken, the threw the projectile into another leg, this one next to the large creature. The Man-bat jerked its head towards the bat-shaped weapon before snapping back towards the vigilante, snarling at him. It rushed at him, the Dark Knight throwing himself to a side as he threw a third shuriken into another leg.

The Man-bat twisted around swinging a clawed hand at him. Ducking, the hand rammed through more of the smaller supports, smashing them to pieces. Batman scrambled towards some unbroken supports, squeezing through them as the Abraham Man-bat charged after him, tearing through the pieces of wood.

Swinging an arm out, he threw a fourth shuriken to strike a fourth leg. Above the two of them, the water tower's swaying began to worsen. Time was running out. The vigilante's body screamed at him as he made a sudden move to his left, narrowly avoiding a clawed hand that struck some of the last remaining supports.

Pushing his feet against the rooftop, Batman angled himself towards one of the tower's legs, using to his momentum to run up it before pushing off of it. Abrahman's eyes watched him like a hawk, shrieking at him as it tried to snatch him out of the hair. Fortunately, he had done his calculations right and was just out of reach of those claws, though they scraped against his back.

Batman went into a ball, rolling against the gravel surface of the roof and stopping in a crouched position. He threw a final shuriken, the projectile ripping through the air and barely cutting through the large Man-bat's facial hair, striking the last tower leg with a clang.

Pushing down with his legs, the masked vigilante practically began to run backwards, putting more space between him and the water tower. Reaching up to his gauntlet, he hit a button that activated the timer within the explosive shurikens he had left behind.

The Abraham Man-bat growled at him, puffing itself up as it let loose a battle cry. Just as it began to take a step forward the first of the explosive shurikens detonated, blowing apart the water tower's leg. The sound immediately attracted the Man-bat's attention, its head jerking towards the origin of the explosion. Then the second projectile blew, followed by the third, each time Abraham's head and body twisting around to face this unexpected threat.

As the final shuriken detonated, the water tower gave in to gravity. The pipes holding up the heavy, water-filled tank crumpled, water spilling out as the large, metal object fell. The Abraham Man-bat's snapped upwards at the last second, giving the beginnings of a shriek as the tank of the water tower landed right on top of it. Batman instinctively jumped back, both of his arms up in front of his face, an attempt at protection.

Then came the flood of water, the rush of liquid slamming into the vigilante. He was now faced with an unexpected threat as he pushed and dragged back by the water flow, forced back towards the edge of the building. Realizing there was no fighting it, Batman allowed himself to be pushed off, catching onto the building's ledge at the last second. He gritted his teeth together and he dug his fingers in, struggling to hold on until the rushing water came to an end.

Hanging for a moment, the Dark Knight eventually pulled himself back up and onto the roof, panting from the unplanned exertion. He needed to rest, to recover, but now was not the time for that. Looking at the fallen tower, he got back onto his feet and trudged over towards the metal remains, his feet splashing through leftover water.

Digging through the scrap metal, he began the search for the Man-bat. As he removed one piece of metal, he found the head and lower back of the creature, a groan escaping from its mouth as its tongue hung out of the orifice. For once, it actually looked fatigued, not that he would take any chances with it.

As he gazed at his defeated foe, Batman's eyes suddenly narrowed.

 _Tongue…_

It seemed there was a way to give the antidote after all. Though its skin was tough, that didn't mean its internal tissue was. Pulling out the tranq gun, Batman closed the short distance between him and the creature. Though it barely made any movement, the vigilante didn't give it a chance to act as he kneel down, took hold of the tongue with one hand, and stabbed the gun's needle into the msucle, injecting the antidote an instant later.

" _SSSSSSSSSSKKKKKKKKRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!"_

Immediately the Abraham Man-Bat reacted, jerking its head around wildly as it gave a shriek.. Shoving itself up, it pushed off the remains of the water tower off of it. It swung its arms back and forth to further rid itself of the debris.

Even as it did so though, it began to shrink. Soon, only the half-naked form of Abraham Langstrom was left, exhaustion hitting him like a freight train. Only then did he drop to the floor unconscious.

Finally, it was over.

"You stopped him."

Jerking his head to a side, Batman caught sight of Kirk Langstrom. Completely drenched, he was holding one of his arms, though the vigilante was quick to note that the previous injuries that had marred the man's body were not to be found. It seemed the mutagen had some healing abilities as well. "I wasn't sure that you could," the scientist admitted.

"Neither was I," Batman agreed. "But this isn't over, not yet. I still need to find who was responsible for this."

There was a moment of silence before Langstrom spoke up again. "I've been thinking, like you asked me to, and there's only one person I can think of who might be involved with this to do… _this_."

The Dark Knight's eyes narrowed. "Who."

Langstrom sighed. "I wasn't sure it was him, but now that I think about it, the last couple of sessions I've had with him involved hypnosis. If there was any time I wasn't aware of anything it was then and I could've said anything. I honestly don't remember."

 _Hypnosis?_ Suddenly Batman was beginning to get an idea of what kind of person was behind this. There were only so many people who could use that technique and all of them had backgrounds in psychiatric medicine.

"You may want to look into Dr. Victor Erie. He's the only person left that I can think of."

* * *

While Gotham bore the onslaught of Man-bats, Thorne was safe and sound in a secure room fitted with all the luxuries one could need. Thorne himself had changed into more comfortable wear, complete with robe and slippers. At hand was a marvelous brandy that he nursed, even as new updates on the freak show out there was announced play-by-play over various media outlets.

The crime boss had learned from previous experiences on how to protect himself and it was bearing out its fruit. So while people were being eaten alive or whatever, he was sitting comfortable with Frankie up and ready to take all comers and Michael to finish up some of the day-to-day business. Plus, there were many other men beyond this room keeping up security.

Nothing was going to reach him tonight.

Well, that live-stream was reaching him and he was getting bored of it. "Turn that off, Frankie. From the sounds of things, it's starting to wind down."

Ah, better. No more annoying buzzing of some dumbass reporter boring into his skull.

"Anything else, Michael?" he asked before taking a sip of his brandy.

"I think that's it," Michael answered him as he was putting away various documents and files. "There's only the matter of Dent and the books. Shouldn't he have been here by now?"

"Odds are he got caught up in that bat madness," Thorne shrugged. "What are the odds that those bats got him and took care of him for us? One less thing to worry about."

"But what about the books?"

"Hard to believe, considering how things are now, I still have a couple eyes and ears in the GCPD. Frankie here will send word out to keep an eye out for Dent or his car and pick up that sensitive information before anyone's the wiser. If they can't get to what's left of him first, then they'll have to swipe them before they go all the way through the evidence chain. We can still take advantage of this chaos for our own ends."

Such as vanish an incredibly incriminating piece of evidence before anyone could get a good look at them. Only the people in his immediate circle and Dent knew anything about their arrangement. No vigilantes would happen to chance by this and interfere.

For once, the craziness of Gotham would work for him.

"You mind getting on that, Frankie?" he directed to his hired muscle.

"No problem, Mr. Thorne," Frankie said, nodding his head with a smirk.

"Thatta boy," Thorne praised as he relaxed further in his seat.

As Frankie was beginning to head out of the room, there was a knock on the closed doors. Thorne raised an eyebrow at that but shook his head. It was probably one of his boys there to give an update but not wanting to interrupt something he shouldn't hear. Good man, that. And smart. Smart enough to know how to avoid any kind of information he didn't need to know.

"Get that while you're at it," Thorne added. Hmm, you know what? He felt like a cigar tonight. Something to really take the edge off. He was feeling a little daring tonight, like nothing could go wrong. So why not a pre-celebration smoke?

A loud gunshot jolted him out of his relaxed state, putting him on alert. Turning in his seat, Thorne gazed at the room's entrance just as Frankie fell backwards, not moving.

"What the devil?" Thorne demanded as he turned his gaze from Frankie and to the figure in the doorway. Said figure held a gun in his hand and what looked like a briefcase in the other. The dead man then took a step into the room, then another. From where he sat, Thorne could only get a profile of the man but he recognized him immediately.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Dent?" His eyes flickered downward to Frankie who had not moved since his fall. Was it him, or did it look like blood was dripping from the thug's head?

Dent said nothing, at least not yet. What he did do was turn his head enough that Thorne was now able to see his whole face—and by God, what the hell?

Thorne's eyes widened as he took in the disfigured left side of Dent's face. Oh, that was ugly. The mob boss had never seen anything like that before. Distracted by this, it came as a surprise when Dent was now barely a foot away from him, his gun now in Thorne's face.

"Hello, Rupert," Dent greeted. There was something…different about his voice. It was deeper than he recalled. There was also a slight gravelly quality to it.

Something was wrong here, but Thorne was not going to be broadsided by it. "You have a lot of balls to be pointing that at me, Harvey," he growled. "Take my advice. Tread carefully. Because right now, this could get real ugly for you."

"I wouldn't hold my breath, Thorne," the disfigured DA retorted. "If you think your thugs and goons are going to save you, your man over there was the last one. The others are also retired. Permanently."

"You're bluffing," Thorne sneered. If Harvey thought he was going to scare him, he'd better check himself into Arkham. "Boys! Get your asses in here!" he roared. Now, he waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

For a second, he felt a twinge of uncertainty, something he ruthlessly shoved down. This was not the time to show any weakness.

Then the barrel of the gun was pressed into his forehead.

"Not this time, Thorne. It's just you and me now. No hired help. No press. No Weinsteins to bail you out."

"Are you sure you want to go through with this, Harvey?" Thorne stated pointedly. "I think you still wanted your job as the district attorney. Don't think I will be quiet about this. Threatening a private citizen in his place of business, and with a gun no less. This is taking tough on crime too far and you know it."

"That's the thing, Thorne. I've decided to retire from prosecuting," Dent replied.

Even with his life being threatened, the crime lord had to blink his eyes dumbly at that. "You…what…?"

"No more mister nice guy, Thorne. See, Harvey's not going to play around, not like he was willing to do to get his hands on his _private_ psychiatric folder. Tonight has been so long, and Harvey couldn't take it anymore."

What was he…? Wait, the file. The file from that shrink Erie. The file that Thorne was going to trade for his books. The file that Thorne himself had read if only to gain more of an upper hand on this upstart of a DA.

Did…did this mean that…that he wasn't speaking with Harvey Dent?

"Big Bad Harv?" he spoke, struggling to keep any sign of hesitation out of his voice.

"Not quite," whoever this was answered. "See, Harv speaks," Dent's voice deepened further, became even more gravelly, "more like this. And if he was here, you'd be missing some of your teeth by now." Dent's voice then returned to that not-Harvey Dent voice he had been using this whole time. "Harv couldn't hold on to control, even if his life depended on it. And Harvey is so easily traumatized. Tonight threw them both over the edge, and now, they're merged. Understand?"

No. No, he didn't understand. He never really put much stock into mental illness before or any of that psychological mumbo jumbo. Right now, he was wishing he had because this was an unknown, one that was in control from the get go.

"Now, since I'm out of a job, I was thinking about a new employment opportunity," the Dent impersonator continued. "I'm thinking about your job, Thorne. I do have your books with me, so I don't need to keep you around. I have everything I need to take everything you have and make it my own. But what to do with you?"

Anger began to swell within the mob boss. "You can't do this. I won't allow it," he growled.

"My gun pointed at your head says differently," Harvey retorted. "But…what to do with you? I should kill you. I should splatter your brains all over this place."

Thorne definitely did not like where this was going. "Now Harvey…" he began, swallowing.

"But that would be too quick," Harvey cut him off. "I want you to suffer, to watch as I take everything from you, and you have to be alive to watch. What to do? To kill you or not to kill you?"

"Look, we can talk about this," Thorne tried to talk the armed man down. Things were spinning out of his control quicker than he liked and he was trying to find some kind of hold he could grab onto.

"Nah," Harvey dismissed. "I think instead, I'll give you a chance. The kind of chance you never gave anybody."

At some point, Harvey had put his briefcase down. When he had done that, the helpless crime lord didn't know. That didn't matter right now, as with his free hand, the disfigured gun man dug into a pocket and pulled out a coin.

"This used to be my father's lucky coin," Harvey continued. "Except, I made a change or two myself. So here's the deal. I flip for your life. Good heads, you live." A very smooth-looking profile of Lady Liberty was faced towards him. "Bad heads, you die." The coin was turned and now the other side of what used to be a double-sided coin was reveal. Again, it was Lady Liberty's profile except there were deep scratches carved into it.

That must have been the change or two mentioned.

"Harvey, you don't have to do this," Thorne tried again, eyes moving between the gun, the coin, and Harvey Dent. "We can work something out. Something that would be fair to the both of us."

"Fair? I think a fifty-fifty chance is more than fair Thorne," came the retort. "I gave all your men the same chance. I even flipped for your man right before he answered the door. They were all unlucky. That's why we're all alone here. Except for the shrimp over there."

Michael, who had been watching this macabre scene shrank in on himself, trying not to direct any more attention to himself.

"He'll have his chance too, don't worry," Harvey remarked. "So enough with the talk. Let's see how lucky you are Thorne."

"Harvey!" Thorne protested as the coin was flipped, spinning rapidly in the air.

Then it fell back down, pulled by gravity towards Harvey's hand and sealed Thorne's fate.

* * *

The room was dark. Furnished with expensive pieces, from the desk to the couch, to the head bust of Sigmund Freud, the room screamed that its owner had particular tastes.

Batman ignored the furniture. Instead it was in front of the file cabinet. With one of the drawers open, he rifled through the files contained within.

The first name he saw—and promptly set him on edge—was Victor Zsasz.

It had jumped at him in an instant. A moment later and he recalled that Dr. Erie had been summoned to perform a psychiatric evaluation of Zsasz following his capture. No longer was that just coincidence.

A few names later had Batman pausing yet again. Tetch, Jervis. The Mad Hatter. This time the dark-clad man felt his eyes narrow. Two madman, the same psychologist. Either Erie was bad at his job or he was doing something else entirely. Shuffling through the files, there weren't many other names that jumped out. Ray Salinger, Victor Sage, Edward Nashton, Kirk Langstrom, Arnold Etchison. And then he froze yet again.

Harvey Dent.

This time he felt a cold sweat break all over him. If Erie was not who everyone thought he was, then there was some serious trouble on the horizon for Dent. No more would he let this doctor slide. A full background check, security check, visual surveillance, all would be done to get to the bottom of this shrink.

And then he heard a door open.

Silently, Batman turned around, seeing the office door was still shut. That meant someone else was in this penthouse suite. Quietly he closed the cabinet drawer and slowly drifted to a dark corner of the room. Perhaps a face-to-face would be much more preferable.

Soon the room door open and in strode an older man in a turtleneck and slacks. He was oblivious to the vigilante's presence as he hit a light switch, dim lights turning on. Batman caught sight of a neatly-maintained beard, but otherwise couldn't get more visual for an identification. Oddly enough, his hair seemed off-putting, as if it wasn't supposed to be there.

The man approached the desk, stopping in front of it as if he were looking for something. This seemed an opportune moment for an introduction.

"Dr. Erie."

Erie froze, but not how most people did. When Batman surprised people, they flinched, or jumped, before spinning around to confront him. This man didn't. Instead he just stood there, not moving. It was several seconds before he let out a dry chuckle and turned around.

The moment Batman caught sight of the man's face, a scowl appeared on his own. No wonder the hair was off to him, it was a toupee and a bad one at that. The gleam in his eye was hardly hidden by the glasses he wore.

"Strange."

"Batman," the now revealed Hugo Strange greeted mockingly, smirking.

Strange raised a hand up and pulled off his toupee, revealing his balding head. He placed the hair piece on top of the Freud bust then placed his hands behind his back. "I was wondering how long it would take you to arrive at my doorstep."

Everything began to fall together in Batman's mind. The rise in psychotic criminals, the plague of Man-Bats—it was all because of him. "You're the one that released the Man-Bats onto Gotham," he accused.

"It was too good of an opportunity to waste. I wanted to see you in action once again and you did not disappoint. How could I resist not giving you an opponent that matched your namesake?"

More games, it was always games with this man. "You got Kirk Langstrom's Man-Bat formula, then you created more variations of it. All for what? To challenge me?"

"But of course. I am, however, a little disappointed that it took you all this time to discover my return to Gotham. I had expected this visit much sooner than now," Strange taunted.

"Why return at all? Aren't you afraid that the False Face Society may want revenge? After all, it was you that gave me the information of their October 27th Attack," the dark-clad man pressed.

"And who else beside you and I know of this? The False Face Society was just a way to alleviate boredom." Strange paused, looking wistful before a grin began to split his face. "But then you arrived and I knew that I had to do this right, challenge you much like you challenged me. So I gave you the information on the Society to clear the board so that I may challenge you more properly."

Strange reeked of vanity, something that set Batman's teeth on edge. He had never liked the trait in men and Strange was a prime example as to why. They viewed others as beneath them, treated them worse than dirt, and always believed they were in the right. It was infuriating. "Challenge me for what?" he retorted.

"It's quite simple, really. Which of us has the superior mind? Originally I had you labeled as a thug who beat people into submission. Imagine my surprise when you interrogated Jonathan Crane. That wasn't some thug, that was intelligence, a rare quality in a brute. I knew I needed to see what laid within its depths."

"So you set up a practice and convinced unwell people to give into their madness? Like Jervis Tetch?"

"Ah yes, Jervis. Brilliant, yet troubled. I hope you can forgive the mess he made, it was not my intention to draw out interference from the city itself. Even I had believed those were stories."

"And Victor Zsasz?"

"Just another lost soul I took pity on. I simply gave him a new lease on life, a purpose for a purposeless man. And he was marvelous."

"So you're what? Convincing these people to give into their demons? All to get at me?"

Strange shrugged his shoulders. "One of them would have to succeed. View them as my veritable time bombs. When one goes off, you have to clean up the mess. Eventually one would prove superior enough to you and on that day you will know that it is I, Professor Hugo Strange, who is responsible for your downfall."

 _Click._

There was silence in the room. Even Strange seemed caught off guard. "What was that?" he questioned.

Raising a hand from beneath his tattered cape, Batman revealed a voice recorder in his grip. "Thanks, Professor. I think Commissioner Gordon would love to hear all of this."

"You didn't. When did you—"

"From the moment you walked into the room." Closing the distance between him and Strange, Batman loomed over the crazed shrink. "I hope you have a good lawyer."

Unfortunately, that caused Strange's face to light up. "So you've read my files, have you not? I do know a 'good lawyer.' In fact, I believe you're well acquainted with him. I wonder, does Harvey Dent still practice defense?"

And then he slammed a fist into Hugo Strange's face.

* * *

Author's Note: Anybody surprised by that twist? Once again, the real villain of the story is Hugo Strange. He's very adept at stealing stories, isn't he? It was always the intention to bring him back, and I wanted to give him an alias that would hide him. Thus, Victor Erie. The key is Erie as it is similar sounding to "eerie" with is a synonym for, you guessed it, "strange." The Victor part, that's a throw away part of the name, but if you want it mean something, there's the author Victor Hugo who's works include _Les Miserables_ and _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_. Now that you know what his scheme was, you'll realize ShadowMajin and I have opened the door for so many other Batman villains; even the names mentioned are the names of actual Batman villains. The future of this series is ongoing if this chapter has anything to say about it.


	31. Meet Me in the Dark

Meet Me in the Dark

 **Meet me in the dark, I'll take you down**

 **Close your eyes to see, I'll show you how**

 **Everything you've known is broken now**

 **Silencing the screams you've heard so loud**

 **-Meet Me in the Dark by Otherwise**

* * *

What did they expect? Truly, what did they all expect?

Hugo Strange had been involved with their inferior system to know how to manipulate it. They thought they would be sending him to Blackgate for his machinations, but he proved them wrong.

Who better to be able to fake "insanity" that a psychiatrist who knew all the ins and outs of mental illness? It was child's play to gain the transfer to Arkham while he awaited trial. And Arkham was his playground, his domain. He had dominated it with an iron fist when he had been an employee there.

The irony that he was returning as a patient was not lost on him.

He would admit, the straight jacket that had been forced onto him was a bit much. The men who guarded him with semi-automatics was practically overkill. But it certainly stroked his ego that the authorities were taking such extreme precautions with him. The armored truck could have done with some restraints, though. What would have happened if they got into an accident? He was sitting here relying on an underpaid driver to get him from point A to point B and he didn't have a seat belt on.

He could feel the truck slowing down, coming to a stop, and he almost smirked. Almost. No sense antagonizing his armed guard. Especially not when they had arrived.

The back doors opened, letting in pale sunlight. Strange squinted his eyes to reduce the exposure until his eyes adjusted. By then he was being "politely" urged to get up and exit the vehicle. He obliged.

As he left the back of the armored truck, the restrained professor spotted the welcoming committee. There were a number of orderlies waiting to take him into custody, a couple whom he recognized on the spot. However, it was not them whom he focused his attention on. It was to a thin, reedy man who did not fit in with the group and the slight scowl on his face was anything but welcoming.

"Jeremiah," he greeted. "It has been some time."

"Not long enough," the head of the asylum snipped. Someone was in an irritable mood.

"Now, is that any way to greet a former colleague?" Strange inquired, his lips quirking upwards as he bored his gaze knowingly into the inferior man.

"You are no longer a colleague of mine, just another patient," Jeremiah spat. "I don't know what illusions you hold, Strange, but this is not a pleasant reunion. You have been charged with a number of crimes, heinous in my opinion. We're only here to assess you and then send you back in chains where you belong."

"Someone grew a spine," he mocked. "I wonder what other growing you have experienced, Jeremiah. I believe it will be most fascinating to find out."

"I doubt you will have the time," reedy man retorted. "I will be too busy running this institution, on top of my own current roster of patients, to spend any time with you. In fact, your therapist decided that she would meet you out here herself."

Strange frowned at that piece of news. Immediately his eyes left Jeremiah and searched for this alleged therapist. Based on the pronoun used, he was seeking out a woman, and a woman there was. While she wore white like the orderlies, her's were design in the fashion of an Arkham doctor. There was also the skirt that fitted primly on her waist, a poor fashion decision in Strange's mind. What were the Arkhams thinking by enforcing that dress code on its female staff?

Before Jeremiah could continue with whatever else he wanted to say, the blonde woman stepped forward, positioning herself ahead of the asylum head and squared her shoulders. "A pleasure to meet you, Professor Strange. I will be your doctor for your stay here."

Strange raised an eyebrow at her. "And would you happen to have a name?"

"You may refer to me as Dr. Quinzel, Professor."

"Dr. Quinzel is new to our staff but has been proving herself to be very effective," Jeremiah cut in, taking a step forward so that he was next to the assertive doctor. "I believe she will be more than up to the task of cutting through your bullshit and finding whatever truths you are hiding. Don't get comfortable. Your stay here will be a short one."

And then the arrogant, inferior git had the gall to turn his back on him, issuing the order to the orderlies to take custody of him. Quinzel continued to look at him curiously, trying to keep an air of confidence about her. It reminded him of an intern, which is what she probably was.

It was an insult to him that he was being handed over to an _intern_.

"We'll see about that, Jeremiah," he murmured, his eyes not leaving Jeremiah.

Oh yes, they would see.

* * *

It was going to be weird. For years Bullock had had to put up with straight-laced Cort in the desk behind his, being all clean and professional and orderly. Seeing that desk being cleared off, files and cases moved to other places, personal effects boxed up, and a single half-empty coffee cup thrown into the trash made it all the more real that his favorite punching bag was gone.

Down in the line of duty, throat torn out by a giant bat monster. What a way to go.

Bullock would say that he would miss him, if there were any love lost between them in the first place. The guy was a prick with a stick so far up his ass that he was surprised it wasn't coming out of his mouth. But because the department was in mourning for any and all fallen officers, the overweight lieutenant would have to keep quiet and be respectful and all.

To tell the truth, it wasn't like he hadn't completely disagreed with everything Cort said. Someone needed to deal with the city's vigilante problem because the law had to mean something, didn't it? They couldn't be on the side of lawbreakers, even if said lawbreakers were trying to do some good.

But Cort's way of handling it was wrong. It went against everything that their system was supposed to stand for. Trying to kill them while trying to handle the disaster that that freak Hugo Strange had set loose on them had been the dumbest thing that man had ever done. And he paid for it. Instead of focusing on the bigger threat, he kept his eyes on the wrong thing.

A knock on his desk interrupted the rare moment of reflection he was having. A good thing too, because Bullock doubted he could stand having it. Looking up, he found Gordon looking down on him, possibly looking concerned. Wonder where that was coming from.

"You're looking a bit down in the dumps, Lieutenant," the commissioner remarked. "How're you holding up?"

Bullock snorted, looking away. "Do you really need to ask? I'm fine. Just sick and tired of all the moping."

Gordon seemed to hesitate, as if he was thinking over his next words. Ridiculous, he should just say what he came here to say and be done with it. All this pussyfooting around was wasting time.

"You did work with Cort over the past couple of weeks. I know you two didn't see eye to eye, but your work on the task force showed that you two could put aside your differences and do some incredible things. I'd understand if you were able to find enough common ground with him—"

"Com'mish, I might have agreed with a few things he said, but I didn't like the guy. Still don't," Bullock interrupted. "He couldn't get over himself to see what we're suppose to do. We're suppose to be protecting people or some shit, right? He took things way too personally. He wasn't able to see where the real bad guys were and it cost him everything. He's dead and I've already moved on. Can we leave it at that or do we have to drag it through the mud some more?"

Gordon's lips quirked upward, and it was easy to tell he was trying not to smile. "Alright. Keep up the good work then."

A nice little way to try to end the conversation, and really, Bullock appreciated it, but since they were on the topic he figured it would be best to get this out in the open.

"One thing, Com'mish. Cort was right about one thing. We're going to need to do something about those vigilantes one of these days. Don't think I'm stupid either. I know what you're doing. I know you're using them to help clean this city up. If the time comes when we finally do take them down, I know you'll do your job but you won't like it.

"I get it. But I don't like it. You need to figure out where you really stand with this. Just giving that line about official policy isn't going to work forever. You're gonna have to make the choice to hunt that buddy of yours before you get kicked out on your behind. Nobody will be able to protect him after that. And if I get the chance, I'll bring him in handcuffed to my arm if I have to."

Gordon was silent for a moment, and Bullock thought that the other man might up and leave without another word. Not that he cared or anything, but this wasn't some laughing matter. This was something that was going to come to a head sooner or later, if it hadn't already.

"Thank you for your words, Bullock. I'll keep them in mind," Gordon said at last. "Between you and I, I'm going to use whatever I can to clean this city up and I'll answer for it later. I'll accept what happens to me and I'll do it knowing I did everything I could to make a difference. If nobody likes that, then it's their problem and they can come up to me at any time to tell me about it.

"And you're right about one thing. If we do capture him, I'm prepared to hold him accountable. But I doubt I ever will because if he gets caught, it'll be because he got sloppy and deserves it. I know where I stand Bullock, and as you told me, you know it too. Maybe you should answer where you stand before someone forces you to."

And now the commissioner was getting cheesy. So much so that Bullock had to give another snort.

"Oh I already know where I stand. With the good guys and that means you. I might not agree with everything you do, Com'mish, but I know your heart's in a good place. I've gone this far with ya, and I ain't about to ditch just 'cause another guy says some pretty words. Now I've got a job to do so do whatever it is you do when you're not bothering me. Hit on your wife or something, I don't know."

That one earned him a chuckle. Bullock let a smirk creep onto his face as he turned back to more important things. He had to finish up on that Zsasz case then get back to all the others he had to put to aside.

Things weren't about to slow down for the department and he would be just as slow as he always was with paperwork. This whole time of mourning would have to pass because whatever came next, they had to be ready for it.

* * *

It was a bit of a blessing that Barbara hadn't filled this place up with much. That made packing it up so much easier.

Though only a few days after that swarm of Man-bats had tried to make Gotham their new home and Hugo Strange had been arrested as the man responsible, Barbara was taking this opportunity to start over again. This apartment had only memories of depression in it, little to no activity, and she didn't want to be reminded of it.

Fortunately, she had already found a new place, one that had caught her eye. She couldn't explain it, but the attachment of a clock tower to the building was appealing to her. As far as she knew, it didn't ring every hour, was merely a cosmetic look. But she liked the look of it, and the apartment she had picked out was on a higher floor, affording a bit more privacy.

While she would never be truly healed, at least the psychological injuries were healing. Finding a new purpose tended to do that. Coordinating the efforts of all the vigilantes at once had re-lit a fire in her, and she was fanning the flames already.

Right now, she had Dick and Tim helping with the moving. Those two big, strong males could handle some heavy lifting, right? She'd handle the packing of her electronics, because this was some sensitive equipment. All but one of the monitors were packed away and she was doing some last minute tasks on the last one.

She might be ordering a few more monitors. In the future she was going to need some more. She would get back to that later. Right now, she was putting the finishing touches to a very important program.

"I need a break," moaned Dick as he came up beside her. With the lack of anything else other than the desk and the computer, there was nothing left in this room for him to move. It also meant he had to use the floor to sit down if he so wanted to.

"Yeah, take a break," the wheelchair-bound woman agreed. "I just need to finish this up then I'm shutting it down."

"And more stuff for us to move," Tim finished as he trudged in. Though still young and strong, the constant back and forth and moving of heavy if not awkward furniture was taking its toll on the teen. "How'd you get so much?" he complained.

"It could have been worse. I could have had more stuff," Barbara quipped back. "I guess that's a benefit of depression."

"What are you working on?" Dick piped up. Sounded like he didn't like where this was going. Well, she'd let him get away with it this once.

"A little something for the future," she answered cryptically.

"Does it have anything to do with O?" Tim teased as he approached them.

Because of how vague the letter O was, it didn't matter if someone overheard that. So long as no context was provided, no one would know what O was.

"You could say that," she answered. "Though, I've been thinking about changing that."

"Because O was so original, right," Dick said, and if she didn't know any better, she could have sworn he too was mocking her. "How'd you come up with that, by the way?"

"It doesn't matter," she nipped in the butt. It was embarrassing to admit that she had just picked that randomly from whatever words she had been using at that second. When someone like the Batman wants a name, you do not waste time thinking of one. "That'll be history."

"Not as long as we're around," Tim taunted. "You're not going to live this down any time soon."

"Word of advice, Tim, don't tempt a person who's good with computers. In this day and age, we can fuck you up in ways you can't even imagine." She smirked as she noted Tim's frown in the corner of her eye. Yes, let him stew in that for a bit.

"So if O is going to be history, what replaces it?" Dick asked.

A good question. One she figured that it would be best to show rather than answer verbally. With a quick glance to the door to make sure no one else was looking in on that, she tapped a button on the keyboard.

The screen of her monitor was soon filled with a green, feminine-shaped head. The face held a blank expression, the eyes a lighter green as compared to the rest. The top of the head was rounded with darker greens giving the illusion of pulled-back hair.

"Gentlemen, may I present to you…" she trailed off, leaving them in suspense for a moment before freeing them from their curiosity.

"...Oracle."

* * *

Kirk Langstrom never expected in his life that he would ever wear the orange jumpsuit that a prisoner of Blackgate was mandated to wear. After everything that had happened and his involvement exposed, it was the least he could do to repent. He had made one too many mistakes and he was going to atone for them.

Sitting across from him in the conjugal visiting room, Francine reached out with her hand and gripped his tightly, desperately not wanting to let him go where she could not follow. "Are sure about this Kirk? You were just another victim. You don't have to do this."

Kirk bowed his head for a moment before raising it and holding it high. "Somebody has to, Francine. I should have told everyone about the mutations. I should never had taken that man's advice and put it into my system. I had plenty of chances to prevent this mess and I didn't."

"But it doesn't mean you have to go to prison!" Francine protested. "Your father did some horrible things when he was one of those beasts. Yet he's getting off scot-free. At least accept the legal team he's giving you."

Which was a surprise. The legal system was going to be dealing with the fallout of what was starting to be called the Bat Infestation. Most of the individuals who had been injected with the mutagen were not having charges pressed against them. There were a few exceptions, such as Abraham Langstrom. Based on his activity that night, he had killed more than a few people, most of whom were homeless or poor.

It was not a secret that his father despised the lower class. Before he could even be interviewed, he was bringing in lawyers. Even if it was decided independently that no charges would be brought up, the lawyers would add some pressure to make that so.

Kirk, however, they had something on. Apparently Gotham had laws over crimes of omission. He had had the information about the mutagen and had told no one who was in a position to do anything about it. He had withheld information and because of that, he endangered the lives of so many people.

He was more than willing to face the consequences. The surprise then came in that Abraham was sending it in his legal counsel to defend him and try to get him off. Kirk hadn't known what to do when he found himself in a small room with five high-priced lawyers, all of whom were telling him that he was going to be let off or there would be hell to pay.

He had been tempted. The allure of freedom was too powerful. But he had to take responsibility for both his actions and inactions. Naturally, they would do their jobs and get him a reduced sentence. He wouldn't' stop them from doing that.

This was just another scheme of his father's. With a criminal record, there would be no place for him to go and only his father would be waiting, willing to take him in. For a price.

Kirk knew what that price was.

There was no way in Hell he would give his father of all people the Man-bat mutagen. That was the only thing that man would want. Patriarch didn't just do research and produce new drugs; it had a few contracts with the Department of Defense. They did medical studies with soldiers on a regular basis. The Man-bat serum in the hands of the military? A gold mine for Patriarch.

And there were so many other possibilities, ones that Kirk did not want to think about.

He would be having a lot of time to think anyway.

"I know I am asking a lot from you," he told his wife. "Believe me, I wish I could be out there, with you. You're the best thing in my life. I was more blind than a bat that I couldn't take that to heart and trust you when I needed to the most."

"Kirk," Francine shook her head, "bats aren't blind."

"Then I suppose that was all on the man part," the incarcerated scientist tried to joke. "Do you think you could ever forgive me?"

She gave him a smile, one that would always make his heart skip a beat. "Don't you know? I've already forgiven you. That's what we do, people like us. People who love one another so much that we can't live without each other. I forgive your faults and try to challenge you to do better. To be better. And you do the same for me."

Kirk shook his head. "I don't deserve you."

"But you have me anyway," she told him. "Are you sure you have to do this. You can still change your mind."

"Francine, even if I were to leave today, there's nothing for me out there. I doubt the mad scientist who created monster bat creatures would be wanted anywhere. At least with anyone respectable."

"Don't you worry about that," Francine interrupted him before he could really get going. "I've already talked with March and even my father. Lincoln's willing to take you back and if that doesn't work out, I think I can get _my_ father to pull some strings. He might let you be his assistant."

"He's the man who believes bats are the next big thing on the evolutionary chain," Kirk deadpanned.

"You'd fit right in," Francine teased him, grinning. "We're going to be okay, Kirk. No matter where we land, we will be okay."

"I hope you're right, Francine," he said as he heard the footsteps of a guard. Visiting hours were over. "I really hope you're right."

* * *

The past few days had been long. The fallout from Strange's science experiment or whatever he was trying to accomplish with it was still ongoing. So many people dead, the toll about to get into the sixties. Civilians, police officers, and even the poor victims who were changed against their will made up the body count.

People were demanding answers. They were demanding that someone pay.

They had their man, without a doubt. But that man had taken advantage of that trend of going to Arkham. It was disgusting because from the little interactions he had observed and the recording that came from a certain friend, Strange knew what he was doing. He didn't care about right or wrong.

Gordon had no idea where this was going to go. Where it was currently going, he didn't like. So he took a break up to the roof. How long he had been alone up there, he didn't know, the view of the city being used to soothe his nerves.

Someone had other ideas how he was going to spend his time up here. Naturally, it was with that appearing/disappearing act.

"I don't know if it is a good thing or a bad thing that I'm getting used to this," he remarked, glancing at Batman before returning his gaze out into the city.

"What's happening with Strange?" Gordon knew that the vigilante knew what was happening so far; what he wanted was any plans the legal system had to deal with him.

"It's obvious he's trying to cop an insanity plea. He's blaming you for being the, and I quote, 'cause of his psychosis.' There were a bunch of psychological words he's using, trying to confuse people. Can't say it isn't working as he's in Arkham for the time being. I did call up Arkham and I believe he's on board to proving Strange a fraud. People want blood and I'm hoping that that bastard shrink's will do. Thanks for the evidence, by the way. If half of what's on it is true, Strange's crimes go further back than we thought. For most of them, the statute of limitations haven't expired so we can at least get him on his involvement with the October 27th Attack."

Gordon blew air through his lips, crossing his arms in front of him. "Langstrom's already admitted guilt and is taking whatever punishment we lay down on him. Kind of a nice change of pace if I didn't feel sorry for him. I am having a few problems with Wayne Enterprises, though. Langstrom's boss is dragging his feet on some things, in particular anything to do with Langstrom's research. We might have to get a warrant to find out what we need to know."

More stoic silence, not that the commissioner was complaining about it. He had done most of the speaking so far and needed a little time to rest his voice, so to speak. There was one thing, though, that needed to be addressed.

"Just so you know, I'm about to do a shake-up of the department." Gordon raised his head up unconsciously, squaring his shoulders as if in preparation for an upcoming fight. "Cort's not going to be a problem, but the fact he goaded so many officers into acting inappropriately and dangerously got a lot of people hurt, and put you and your people in danger. It's unacceptable and I think you deserve to know what I'm going to do about it.

"Funny thing, though. Once it came about Strange and Erie being one and the same, I found out that he had been seeing some cops. I even think I recommended a few to him. I wouldn't be surprised if Strange also had a hand in the department's response to those Man-bats. It seems to me the more we look into this guy, the more we find out how many pies he had his finger in. I'd have a better idea if Strange's lawyers weren't tying us up on his files. Confidentiality and all that. It would be a good thing to know which cops he had been seeing so I can get them transferred out of Gotham. No sense keeping anybody he's manipulated around where they can cause more trouble."

"Strange has also been twisting various individuals, trying to turn them into his puppets," Batman added in. joining the one-sided conversation. "All these individuals need to be found and given the help they need before they cause problems."

"Yeah, that was mentioned in that tape," Gordon agreed. "Unfortunately, I don't have the kind of manpower to do that, at least not until we can get this Bat Infestation over and done with. Quite a few officers were killed that night too. I just don't have the resources right now to try a proactive approach, much as I want to. Unless you're willing to look into it yourself."

With every word he uttered, the commissioner knew he was admitting to how messed up things had become. Only a couple weeks ago, they had been a well-oiled machine, getting things done, and the only thing to worry about was an election. That had been the only obstacle ahead of them. Why had this had to happen now?

Hmm, that was one other thing.

"I haven't heard from Harvey in a while," he said aloud. "I've been giving him time to handle his election, but even then he'd contact me every other day. Now that I think about it, I haven't heard from him since before Strange's attack. Have you heard anything?"

The vigilante took his time answering, but when he did, it was with, "I haven't."

Gordon frowned and glanced over at the masked man. Something about the way he said those words sounded a bit…off to him. It was hard to tell, but his gut was telling him that maybe the vigilante was worried about the other member of their trio.

"You wouldn't mind checking up him, would you? I don't frankly have the time and usually Harvey's the one calling me. Just see if he's okay. Of the three of us, he's the only one that hasn't done anything to make the others doubt him."

"I'll see what I can do," the vigilante agreed to the request.

"Hopefully this is nothing, just a bump in the road," Gordon sighed as he looked away. Probably for the last time this conversation. Next time he looked, he'd probably would be gone. Like usual. "We can get back to worrying about things like the election and cleaning this city up. All that's left is Thorne. We take down Thorne, we take back this city once and for all."

And no demented shrinks would take that from them.

* * *

As a brand new day greeted Gotham, a hand continuously flipped a coin, catching it and re-flipping it once more without pause.

From Rupert Thorne's chair, what remained of Harvey Dent reflected in the quiet of the room, ignoring turned over furniture, scattered documents, and the dead body still resting at the door. The stench of death and decay should have been getting to him, but this man found himself able to ignore it.

What was he waiting for? Who knew. He didn't. But that was because he was still contemplating.

It was all over what he was going to do now. He knew that he had mentioned taking over Thorne's outfit and making it his own. It sounded good, it really did. No more having to be Mr. Nice Guy. No more having to try and please people who should have been shot and left to rot ages ago.

Yet, there was still his life. Or what remained of it. He doubted that whatever code of honor the mob had would extend to him. No, these men who saw themselves as tough would squeal about this massacre and end his professional career. Even then, that career was uncertain as he was not guaranteed any win in the upcoming election. The fact that Mort Weinstein had any kind of support only proved how much of a joke it was.

Beside, once people got a look at him now, they'd run screaming. They were all a bunch of superficial simpletons, won over by something as petty as good looks. They didn't deserve him, didn't deserve the past four years of service he had done trying to protect them all. It wasn't like they were all innocent themselves. They were all guilty of something, every one of them.

But there was also Gilda. He caught his coin and clenched his hand around it. What would Gilda think? He knew what she would think. She would be devastated, and he couldn't do that to her. He couldn't. She didn't deserve to belong to a freak like himself, one whom could barely make any kind of decision even after committing mass murder.

That's what he was now. A murderer. With all the bodies he had left in his wake, he had to amend that to mass murderer. There was no going back from this. There could be no going back. Couldn't there?

It seemed like the longer he sat there, the more and more uncertain he became. What was the right course of action? What should his next decision be? He just…he couldn't decide anymore!

The whole break-in at Thorne's had been spontaneous. He hadn't even given it a thought about doing it. It had become a single-minded purpose; he had needed to get here. He had needed to give Thorne a piece of his mind. But there were Thorne's men in the way. And really, flipping the coin had started off as a game. The first bad heads had led to a bullet to the head. The second and third bad heads came in quick succession. There had been a good heads after that but what he did…oh yeah, an assault on the poor bastard who had gotten in his way. He should still be alive.

It became a blur of coin flipping with death and violence following after until he had found Thorne. And now here he was, wasting time. Wasting life. Wasting whatever future he once had.

He slowly opened his hand and gazed at the silver dollar he held. It was showing good heads right now, but it was meaningless. What was occurring to him right now was that he could flip for it. He could flip for what he was going to do next. Good heads he returned to his ruined life and accepted the consequences of his actions. Bad heads, he took over all of Thorne's operations, made them his own, and begin a new life.

With a _fling!_ , the coin shot up into the air, flipping, always flipping, as it ascended then descended back to his hand. Catching it, he smacked it onto his other hand, taking a moment to let the tension build. Finally, he lifted his hand and revealed what fate held in store for him.

Bad heads.

It was settled then.

Relaxing, the disfigured man faced the unsuspecting city beyond, allowing a smirk to curve the lips of the left side of his face. Lazily, he began to flip his coin, casually catching and flipping it back up into the air. Two words slipped out of him, solidifying his new resolve.

"My turn."

* * *

Author's note: And with that, _Ten Houses of Deceit_ ends. Of course, this isn't an ending, but a beginning to the next story in this little ShadowMajin-Anonymous Void universe. Keep an eye or two peeled for _Three Sides of Fate_ , and I do believe you can already guess who Batman's taking on in that one. It'll be on my account, and in the Batman section, so you don't need to be looking at ShadowMajin's or anywhere else for it.

I'd like to thank Jackalope89 for their continuous reviewing, each one was a hoot to read. See you guys and gals for the next one and if you think this story was a game changer, wait until Harvey has his turn.


End file.
